The Long Night in Laos

Written in memory of my signalman, Chinh Ro.
Major Tran Ve

In the duration of the operation in Cambodia, it seemed that we had tramped all over the area east of the Mekong River; the 4th Marine Battalion had first arrived at Neak Luong, then there had been the invasion of Prey Veng, followed by our positioning at Ba Nam.

I was at that time the Commander of the 4th Company. Towards the end of the operation there, the 4th Battalion was ordered to head southwards along the Mekong. As my company was trying to occupy a target at the end of the village, I was wounded by a grenade which had been rigged in a booby trap. I was med evacuated to Hong Nge, and then Vung Tau. It was only a slight wound, and I was discharged after a week in hospital. In military life, a piece of good luck often followed an ill turn: I was subsequently allowed three weeks convalescence in Vung Tau. I made the most of this and traveled to Saigon very often to visit my family. It was rare that such occasions presented themselves!

One day as I was lounging about, enjoying the sea breeze on the back beach of Vung Tau, the Commander of the base camp - Captain Dang Van Hoc, came up and told me that the 4th Battalion had just come home. Hoc clapped me on the shoulders and said,

“The Old Man's brought them all back. He's just sent for you urgently.”

“Is he alright?” I asked. “Is the battalion alright as well?”

“Well he seems to have taken on the darker pallor of the Cambodians. He wondered what kept you. He suspects that you got tied up with the girls here in Vung Tau.”

I smiled. “Don't forget, I'm a wounded soldier.”

The “Old Man” was Major Vo Kinh, the Battalion Commander. We were all around 25-30 years old at that time, whilst he was already 50 - hence his nick name. Though 'old' (in our eyes) he was young at heart, and we used to joke and horse about with him all the time. On the battlefield, he was extremely courageous. Back on base camp, whenever we went out, he went out. He was a particularly good dancer. His sense of rhythm was impeccable, and when he danced, he was sure to hold the lady of his choice very close, as he dipped her and whirled her and did all sorts of fancy things to which we could only aspire. We imitated him almost slavishly, but our dancing styles could never quite hold a candle to his.

The atmosphere back on base camp was abuzz with life. Soldiers came and went continually, hurrying here, running there. I stepped inside the Battalion Headquarters and saw the Old Man chatting amicably with the company Commanders. He waved me over before I even had time to salute him.

“Hey Ve! Get over here now. Come on, my good man, spill the beans: did you get lucky? Who's the latest lady?”

I saluted him first, then feigned mortification.

“Great Eagle, I did no such thing!” I said in mock horror. “I was wounded and have been forced to stay in convalescence for some weeks now.”

The Battalion Executive Officer, Nguyen Dang Hoa, whom we all called Bearded Hoa was standing next to the Old Man.

“Oh really?” he said, also in the same exaggerated manner which I had initially assumed. “Show us.”

I lifted up one of my trouser legs, revealing scars which were beginning to heal; they had been punctiform wounds caused by the fragments from the grenade - they were also beginning to heal well.

Tu Duc Tho, commander of the 3rd Company joked sarcastically, “Oh such a severe wound! Come on Old Man, you've simply got to give him another 2 months convalescence.”

Everyone burst out laughing, and I joined in with them. When the last chuckles were dying away, the Old Man became serious and said, “Sorry folks, but I think you are going to have to replace Captain Tran Van Chi as the G3 officer. The Captain has since been promoted to Headquarters Company Commander. You're going to be transferred in the morning.”

“Is the battalion getting a long R & R this time?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not really. The battalion is actually here to be reinforced with more troops. We're preparing for another operation. I have ordered 100% restriction for the camp.”

The Battalion and Company Headquarters worked around the clock organizing weapons and troops. Two weeks later the Battalion was airlifted to Hue. Hue was experiencing a particularly harsh summer that year. The Battalion was transported by trucks to Dong Ha, a northern district of Quang Tri. Many details of the operation were as yet a mystery. We knew not where we were headed exactly, though we had been told to practice amphibious landings. Because of that, many people suspected that we would be landing in North Vietnam. Everybody was rather jumpy, understandably. The Marines were a National Reserve of the ARVN. So far we had already fought in all four tactical zones, and this time it looked like we were bound for the north. Trying to lighten the charged atmosphere someone joked that at least one good thing might come out of the operation: we might get the chance to make the acquaintance of northern girls. Others said that an operation in the north might well be worthwhile on a touristy level, and that we might have the time to stroll along the streets of the northern capital Hanoi.

As I was planning another amphibious landing practice session one day, I was unexpectedly ordered to go and pick up some maps from the 147th Marine Brigade. The maps turned out to be of the areas along Route 9 to Khe Sanh, Lao Bao, and some of Tchepone as well. Still, no specific orders regarding the operation came through, other than the fact that the battalion was going to be moved to Khe Sanh, on D day at H hour. We were duly transported there by trucks along Route 9. The route itself had been built by the French when they had been in Vietnam. It wound its way around mountains and across valleys. Its surface was covered with small stones and bits of gravel; as the trucks rumbled over the road surface clouds of red dust would billow up. Even though we had all held handkerchiefs up to our faces, upon arrival our faces were all of a rather rosy hue from the dust.

It was nearly dark when we arrived at Khe Sanh. We positioned ourselves in the old American Camp. Khe Sanh was about six or seven km from Lao Bao which was on the Laotian border. There were two deserted rubber plantations nearby; these had belonged to French people who had long since forsaken them and returned home. In 1968, Khe Sanh had made a name for itself by being the site of a good many battles between the Americans and the NVA. The Americans had eventually withdrawn, and their camp had fallen to ruins.

After accompanying the Battalion Commander to a briefing with the 147th Marine Brigade, I learnt that the Marines were going to be the reserve for the 1st Infantry Division which was to occupy Tchepone. The 2nd Airborne Brigade and the 21st Ranger Group would also lend their might to the operation. The ARVN's plan was to occupy Tchepone: to destroy the enemy, then retreat rather than stay. The main force would be the 1st Infantry Division. The west and northwest would both be blocked by the Airborne troops and Rangers respectively. Since we were the reserve troops, we had the time to amuse ourselves, bathing in streams and tasting the fruit growing on the coffee trees.

I was the G3 officer, but somehow, every morning I had to fly the command and control aircraft with my signalman Chinh. Every morning we would wait at the Brigade Headquarters for the aircraft to pick us up. Then, after a day of observation, we would make our way back to the Battalion's position. Sometimes the aircrafts belonged to the ARVN and sometimes the US. From working so closely with the Americans I became very familiar with their habits, though I would be hard pressed to say that I was happy with some practices. For instance, the American planes would never actually fly close to the zones where one could observe enemy activity. I used to bicker with the Americans frequently.

“But if we stop and turn back at this point, we still won't know anymore than we started. The NVA are hiding on the other side.”

The American would just laugh and say:

“Sorry, I've got orders not to go past a certain point.”

Apparently, there had been some sort of agreement of which I had not been aware, regarding this point. However, with Vietnamese aircrafts I had free reign, and could go and observe the enemy's movements to my heart's content though I must admit that it was rather dangerous. The Laotian jungles were thick and green, affording perfect protection for the enemy below. There were many a time when the thought crossed my mind that it would only take a single antiaircraft bullet to send us fluttering down to the ground like a flimsy paper plane. But the Vietnamese crewmen had a daring streak and the sight of antiaircraft bullets only incited them to swoop down for a closer look at the exact positions of the enemy.

One day Colonel Hoang Tich Thong's 147th Marine Brigade was airlifted into Laos. They landed on Hill 550 (where the Headquarters of the 147th Brigade was located) without incident. Then the 4th Marine Battalion moved off in a north easterly direction. En route, we discovered a complex of pathways leading up and around mountains, paths which were wide enough even for Molotova trucks to drive through. The Communists had been busy preparing these routes for their porters to keep them supplied with ammunition. That night, whilst the Marines were safe, we heard that both the 1st Infantry Division and the Armor Brigade had been heavily attacked along Route 9. The Airborne Brigade headquarters of Colonel Tho was overrun by the NVA. The 21st Ranger Battalion experienced serious difficulties as well. The I Corps' field headquarters was obliged to ask B52s to head off the NVA advance.

The 2nd Marine Artillery began its fire support the following day; they were replied by the enemy's 130mm artillery guns. Their rounds rained down on the hill where the Marines were positioned - it was as if they could smell where we were. Overhead there was the sound of an aircraft approaching. I quickly tried to radio them, to warn them not to fly to the north as I had seen enemy antiaircraft guns firing there the previous day. But I could not make contact with them in time, and they passed overhead. The enemy antiaircraft guns fired mercilessly: the plane had no time to about face. I shook my head pitying the poor guys in the plane. Over the radio I heard that the Artillery First Lieutenant Officer had been wounded by the antiaircraft bullets. It was a stroke of good fortune that the plane somehow managed to “limp” back towards Khe Sanh.

Whilst I was following the progress of the L19 reconnaissance plane, my signal man came up to me and said, “Captain, First Lieutenant Tho wants to speak to you.”

I took hold of the handset. “What's wrong Tango?” I asked.

“My boys have spotted the enemy. Could you give us some artillery support?” “OK. Give me the coordinates.” I then passed these on to the Artillery. On my left, Duc the 4th Company Commander also requested the assistance of the Artillery. Just as our Artillery ceased, I heard the sound of two 130mms departing from the NVA position and heading straight for us. I shouted “Here it comes!” so everyone could duck for cover. The explosions sounded right behind us. Turning around to look at Hill 550 I saw two columns of smoke billowing up. It was not half obvious that the enemy had detected our positions.

The next day, both sides engaged in constant use of artillery to harass each other. Later on I found out that the enemy had their artillery guns positioned in caves and crevices; it was consequently fairly difficult to detect them, let alone destroy them. On the other hand, our fire support base was in the open and on a hill - any form of movement was not really a possibility. We were easy targets. But this taught us a valuable lesson, and in the Quang Tri battle one year later, we did not position the Brigade Headquarters alongside the Artillery. Instead, the Artillery was given great mobility, and they could move about as the need arose.

Early one morning, the 3rd Company reported that the enemy were approaching. I called Artillery, and reported it to Great Eagle Kinh. He ordered them to fire, and the 3rd Company was supported by 81mm mortars. No sooner had I finished talking to Tho, the 4th Company Commander - Duc, reported that engine noises had been heard.

“Watch out!” I yelled over the radio, “That'll be the tanks. Get your M.72s out.”

“Relax, Vung Tau” he replied “We've got it all under control.”

I then heard the sound of M.72s exploding, coming from the direction of the 4th Company's position. The Battalion Commander told me to ask for more artillery, and to get them to fire a little more closely. The Artillery executed these orders to perfection, their fire was exceedingly accurate. Shrapnel flew up in their wake. At the conclusion of the second salvo, Duc radioed.

“Vung Tau,” he said. “I've destroyed one of the tanks.”

“Great. I'll tell the Great Eagle to give you a prize.” I joked.

I made radio contact with him, and Brigade Headquarters informed me of fresh developments.

We fought throughout the day. Duc destroyed another two tanks, whilst Tho was still struggling with the enemy, neither of whom were willing to give an inch. By 6.00pm at night, the situation was becoming very tense. The enemy did not seem to be greatly concerned about the artillery. They just employed their infantry and tanks to assault our positions repeatedly. Brigade Headquarters during this time had been continually pounded with their fire, and two artillery guns had been destroyed. For most of the day, my signalman Chinh and I had been wedged in a small foxhole. It was so narrow that our legs were intermingled most uncomfortably. Over the sound of small firearms I suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of artillery exploding alarmingly close to us. It seemed that the 3rd Company was receiving the brunt of it. I radioed Headquarters to verify if it was indeed enemy artillery that had exploded right near us. Before I had a chance to say anything, two more exploded on either side of us.

I shouted over the radio, “Great Eagle Tango, ease off. Stop the fire please. You're firing on us.” Great Eagle Tango was the radio code name of Colonel Hoang Tich Thong.

At that moment, the commander of the 4th Company radioed to me, “Hey Vung Tau! Tell our guys in Artillery to stop firing in our direction.”

The G3 Officer of the Brigade shouted back at us, “I've stopped already guys. That's the enemy's artillery!”

Our hearts sank. Just great, we all thought sarcastically. Enemy artillery right on our heads - it was the last thing we needed. I felt my brain shuddering around like a mound of jelly inside my skull following each explosion. The pounding, the shaking, would it never end? From somewhere it seemed a voice was speaking. I shook myself, trying to focus.

“Captain, I'm wounded...”

Turning my head I looked at my signalman. Chinh's body was completely covered in blood. It seemed that his legs were very badly wounded. Our legs were intermingled and mine had been bathed in a blood red as well - I wondered whether I too had been hit. At that instant, the 3rd and 4th Companies both radioed to say that the enemy were storming our positions. Both sides were now engaged in close combat, under the rain of 130mms. The situation was teetering precariously and I was ordered to withdraw and head back to Brigade Headquarters.

I whispered in Chinh's ear, “Look we've been ordered to withdraw. Do you think you can retreat? Are you still able to run?”

Chinh shook his head. “You go, Captain. I can't move anymore.”

Ignoring his response, I tried to drag him out of the fox hole. In his injured state it was nearly impossible to do it. Artillery hailed down around us. We both sensed the hopelessness of my efforts and in the end I was forced to leave him.

My signalman is in Laos - eternally. He came from a very poor family. His father had died when Chinh was still very young. His mother was obliged to sell sweets on the streets to make a living. Given their poverty, he had no choice but to leave school early. He too ended up doing little odd jobs to survive. Chinh's sense of filial duty, his love for his mother was great, and whatever he earned he would bring home - no matter how small the amount. At the age of 18 he voluntarily enrolled in the Marine Corps. He was a soldier of great discipline. His superiors' orders were executed to the letter. So content with his performance were they, that he was chosen to go and be trained in the signal corps. Upon his graduation, he became my signalman. We became very close and he used to confide in me. That was how I became aware of his faithful and generous character. His appreciation for the sacrifice and suffering of his mother was great. He was reluctant to marry, for he saw his first duty as being to his elderly mother: if he were to marry, his time would be divided and he would no longer be able to take of her to the best of his capabilities. All this was in spite of his being terribly in love with a girl who sold sugar cane juice, and she with him.

“Oh Captain,” he had said recently, “The life of a soldier is constantly on the move. So even if I did marry her, it would only bring anxiety and unhappiness.”

I had reasoned with him saying, “But don't you think that you are making her terribly unhappy by not asking for her hand after all these years?”

He had finally laughed. “You're absolutely right Captain! When I come back from the operation this time, I shall most definitely introduce her to my mother and get them acquainted.”

And now he was no longer coming home. It was too late for any of that now. He was to stay forever in a foreign country, far from home, and far from those who loved him. Poor Chinh - may his soul rest in peace. And back in Vietnam, yet another girl would remain alone, unmarried.

When the the 4th Battalion finally reached Brigade Headquarters, it was only to find that the latter had not been spared the enemy's attack. Artillery guns had been destroyed, boxes of ammunition had been ripped open, sand bags spewed forth their contents. I reported to Headquarters. Colonel Hoang Tich Thong spoke.

“Given that all the other ARVN units have withdrawn, it's now time for us to retreat as well. Try to look after your subordinate units.”

Walking out of the bunker, I met Warrant Officer Pham Hiep Si. He hugged me excitedly: we had been in the 19th class at Dalat together. He had, however, been expelled once from the Academy for some disciplinary reason or other. Si eventually graduated with the rank of Staff Sergeant. He had served in the other units of the Army Corps before being transferred to the Marine Corps, and then the 4th Marine Battalion. Knowing that we had once been in the same class, the Old Man had sent Si to my 4th Company before I was wounded. And although he bore only the rank of Staff Sergeant, I had given him the position of platoon leader. On the battlefield Si was smart, but once back on base camp he would assume his usual habits; all he wanted to do was have fun, which always ended up in his being blind drunk. In the end, I had to ask the Old Man to have him retrained in Military School in an officer's course. Now Si was a Warrant Officer in a Long Range Reconnaissance Company. After shaking his hand I said,

“In lieu of the current situation, we are going to have to retreat. But I think we are going to encounter some trouble along the way. Remember to go towards Mount Coroc. Another Marine unit will collect us there.”

Lieutenant Colonel Nguyen Nang Bao's 3rd Marine Battalion was positioned in Mount Coroc. The 3rd Marine Artillery Battalion, commanded by Colonel Tran Thien Hieu, was going to cover us with their fire support when we tried to link up with the Lieutenant Colonel's unit.

Si and I had no time to talk as enemy artillery started pounding the hill again. Suddenly Marines came flooding in from no where. I was swept along by the current of Marines. Enemy tanks were hot on our heels - they knew that if they stuck close to us, our B52s could not bomb them. I slid down the slope of the hill. By now it was well past nightfall; in the darkness I could not see the pathways, and took many a tumble. When I finally reached the foot of the hill, I was greeted by flat land at last, but also by the thick jungle. In amongst the jungle, Marines were scattered. In the darkness, no one could recognize who was whom, let alone which unit was which. Names and numbers were yelled out in an attempt to try to identify one another. Someone suggested that we should go this way, another disagreed and said we had to head in the opposite direction. No one was listening to each other. It was utter chaos to say the least.

I summoned my strength and bellowed as loudly as my lungs would allow, “This is Captain Tran Ve, the G3 Officer of the 4th Marine Battalion speaking. Everyone is to keep silent and listen.”

Amazingly complete silence followed my shout. I continued loudly and in the same terse manner.

“It's dark, so quite obviously I want everyone to stick close together. During the march I want absolute silence. You are not to fire recklessly. He who is equipped with a radio is to approach and walk beside me now.”

Two or three signalman made their way towards me. A voice beside me said, “Captain, I think you're wounded. Let me bandage it up for you.”

I looked down at my left hand: the ring finger had indeed been hurt, but I had been so busy I had not noticed its bleeding everywhere. I tendered my hand to the medic who quickly bandaged it. An explosion followed; the Marines stirred. I gave the order to march, but no one moved. Then I realized that they had no idea in which direction they were to go. I pushed passed them, and led the group. I took out my compass then glanced at my watch. It said 9.00pm. We retreated, more like phantoms than soldiers: silently, flitting from tree to tree, fording streams soundlessly, climbing steep hills without a grunt.

After about one hour, we reached the top of a hill. We heard sounds coming from a hill towards our right. I ordered everyone to stop moving and spread out. A signalman crawled towards me.

“Captain,” he said, “There's someone on the radio.”

Taking the handset I said, “Sea Tigers! Sea Tigers! Marines are calling.”

On the other end, someone said, “Ve Vang, is that you?”

Ve Vang was another one of my code names. I recognised the voice to be that of Tran Ve Vang: he was the executive officer of the 2nd Marine Battalion, the “Crazy Buffaloes”. He had also been in the same 19th Dalat Class.

I quickly answered, “Hong Ha, Hong Ha! It's me, Ve Vang. Can you hear me? You're next to us aren't you? Fire once if you can hear me.”

Someone fired once, and the sound came from a hill about 1km on our right. Now that we were sure of each others' positions, both groups pressed on in the direction of Mount Coroc.

After we left the jungle, we entered into “tiger grass” forests. Behind us we heard the sound of B52s. Explosions came one after another: they were in the process of “flattening” Hill 550. My heart tightened, and my throat felt dry as I thought of my signalman. The billows of smoke rising up probably hid the ascent of Chinh's soul. I was filled with pain at the thought of him, his courage, his noble character. I did not think about my life, nor those of the troops: our futures were floating up there as well, buffeted about by the vicissitudes of war. I was awoken from my reverie by a couple of Marines. They came up to me and said quietly,

“Captain, there's a group of Communists following us very closely. They've been on our tail for some time now. Do you give us permission to deal with them?”

I pondered a while then responded, “Sure. Take about ten of you. Stay back behind as the rest of us keeps going. That way they won't realize that we've clued on to their presence. Let them past you, then close in on them. Once you've finished come back and join us - we shall be waiting for you at that forest just over there.”

A few minutes later I heard the sound of gunfire, the explosion of grenades and M79s. I ordered the rest of the group to stop and deploy. A Marine crawled up to me, panting, and said,

“Captain! Got them! Squashed them like flies. There were ten of them.”

I praised them, and we continued on our way. The radio crackled. It was Hop.

“Ve Vang! Ve Vang! Why did you fire?”

I answered happily: "Relax Hong Ha. We just stopped to “clean up” the forest a bit. We're pressing on now.”

After a long time, I glanced at my watch: it was 5.00am. I estimated that we had another 3km to go until we reached Mount Coroc. An explosion sounded at that moment. Looking up in the sky I spotted a small parachute and a flare suspended there. I received a call on the radio from the 3rd Marine Battalion, the “Sea Wolves”. They were firing flares up in the sky to sign post for the retreating troops. I felt safe now, and ordered the troops to quicken their pace. Half an hour later we reached the foot of Mount Coroc. Other groups were arriving there at the same time as we reached it. Everyone returned to his usual unit at this point.

The Marine Division was going to send helicopters here to airlift us back to Khe Sanh. I organized the Marines into groups of ten, giving priority to the wounded. Half an hour later the helicopters arrived, and the first wave of the air lift was completed without incident. Of course this was too good to last, and beginning with the second wave, the enemy began pounding us with 130mm artillery. The instant the helicopters landed, the Marines had to dash at full speed to board them, all the while accompanied by the enemy's fire. The situation was especially dangerous for the helicopters, but they continued their descent to save the troops. Some of the helicopters were hit on their ascent, but the pilots rallied their courage and somehow managed to steer the helicopter to safety. Sometimes they flew off so quickly that Marines found themselves clinging on to the helicopter's skids as it began the ascent. When the last helicopters were about to leave I quickly boarded, and as I leapt on I felt a sharp pain shooting up from my left hand. Upon arriving at Khe Sanh, I was told that we might have to go the rest of the way on foot. But Colonel Bui The Lan, the Assistant Commandant and Chief of Staff of the Marine Division intervened. He requested I Corps Field Headquarters to send helicopters to airlift the entire of the 147th Marine Brigade, to Khe Sanh. Following that, I was med evacuated to Quang Tri Hospital.

During my sojourn in hospital I listened to the outcome of the battle on the radio. The ARVN had rushed head long into an exceptionally well prepared enemy. It was no wonder we had suffered heavy losses. To its credit though, the ARVN had made the best of a bad job, destroying the enemy's warehouses, supply and communication routes, artillery batteries, and the logistical ammunition and weapons dump. That prevented the enemy from actually continuing in their advance towards the south. They needed time to regroup and receive reinforcements.

A great number of ARVN troops were killed: men from the Airborne Division, the Ranger Groups, the Marine Division. So many had sacrificed their lives... like my kind and brave signalman Chinh - unfretted heroes. There would be no lionization for these courageous men who had died in a foreign land. Others had been captured when they had tried to retreat, like Pham Hiep Si, and Captain Hien of the Long Range Reconnaissance Company. I met them both in a concentration camp in North Vietnam many years later, when I was transferred the Son La Concentration Camp in June 1976. Tears streamed down our faces as we hugged each other: we wept for our country, the Marine Corps, and our own black fates. The Marines who had been captured in Laos spoke to me.

“We have been in concentration camps since 1971, and all the while we hoped so hard that the South would win. After April 1975, we still did not believe them, we thought that they were merely lying to us as usual. We did not believe that a communist victory was possible. We're stunned to see you here. You've no idea how unhappy we are to see you - we are crushed to see you join our pitiful existence here, and we are heartbroken by the significance of your presence here. Your being here confirms our worst nightmare.”

I also met Colonel Tho, Commander of the 2nd Airborne Brigade, under these far from happy circumstances. He had been captured on Hill 31. Tran Ngoc Hue, Ton That Man, Nguyen Van Thue... brave Battalion Commanders of the 1st Infantry Division all of them; they had all been captured at Tchepone as they retreated along Route 9.

Countless brave men fought in the uphill battle in Laos to protect their country. Many of them were captured, many languish in concentration camps still... punished for daring to fight for freedom and democracy. These men demonstrated the courage and tenacity of the ARVN; there efforts will be always remembered, and their place in history forever assured.