The Eaves of Heaven

by Andrew X. Pham

  I put the radio down and realized Nurse Nhung had been standing patiently beside me with a teapot. She filled my cup, sat down on the step, and hugged her knees. The litheness of her movements was strikingly childlike. She was quite attractive, twenty-three, and already a widow with a four-year-old daughter. Her husband had been drafted and killed in battle two years before.

  “Lieutenant,” she said in a tiny voice. “Do you think we will be able to get out of this?”

  “Yes, if we don’t panic.”

  She bit her lips and then sighed. “I am not afraid of dying, but I’m very scared of getting seriously hurt. I don’t want to suffer like the guys in there. What will we do if they overrun us?”

  Our last resort was the river. “Do you know how to swim?”

  “Swim? No.”

  “Can you hide with someone in the hamlet?”

  “I know several families, nice people. I helped them many times.”

  “You should go and hide with them. Take Nhi and Thoi, too, if they want to go with you.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I will.” She fell silent for a moment. “Does Aunt-at-Home know about this attack?” Nhung asked, using the polite term to refer to a superior’s wife.

  “I asked Lieutenant Lan to tell her I am spending the night in the countryside with my team.”

  “That’s good. It’s not necessary to make her worry.”

  “Are your parents worried about you working in the countryside like this?”

  “They understand this is the only way someone without an education like me can support a whole family. What can you do with one pair of hands and four mouths to feed?” Nhung shrugged.

  “What about Nhi and Thoi?”

  “Similar circumstances have a way of bringing people to similar ends, don’t they?” She smiled. She still had the small-town girl smile.

  Carbine shots startled us. They came from the east side of the hamlet.

  Viet and Nhan returned and reported that the men shot at some movement near the creek. There was no return fire and nothing was spotted after that.

  “If they don’t attack us during the first hour after midnight, they may not attack at all,” Nhan said.

  “We will be home free, eh?” Viet sneered. “Let’s go inside and get some rest. It’s going to be a long night.”

  Not wanting to be the only man in uniform, I changed into Nhan’s extra set of black pajamas. Utterly exhausted, I lay down on the cold dirt floor in back of the classroom. It felt wonderful to be stretched out on my back with my rucksack for a pillow. I immediately dozed off and would have slept well the whole night.

  It couldn’t have been more than an hour when the ear-piercing rattle of an AK-47 jerked me awake. Viet and Nhan were already bolting out the door. Disoriented, I jumped up, grabbed my rifle, and followed them without thinking. Viet ran off toward the creek-side where he had twelve men posted. Nhan veered toward the paddy-side to join his four cadres. I had four men at the front gate and four at the back side guarding the river. Artillery! A dozen yards down the road, I wheeled around back to the common house for the radio.

  “Tiger-one, Tiger-one. This is Tiger-six, over!”

  “Tiger-six, this is Tiger-one, over,” Lan replied.

  “Tiger-one, we are under attack on the creek-side, over.”

  “How far from the fence?”

  “First, shell at thirty yards, then move out up to fifty, over.” I headed out, taking the radio with me.

  “Roger.”

  “Do it now! Over and out.”

  I ran down the main road. There was no fighting at the main gate. I cut diagonally to the creek-side, weaving between the houses, not daring to run along the perimeter. I found Viet and his men holding the enemy at the far bank across the slow-moving creek. The shooting was heavy. The enemies’ AK-47s popped in ferocious bursts, mangling the fence of woven branches.

  I shouted into Viet’s ear that artillery was coming. Grinning, he gave me a thumbs up. Then the fence completely splintered around our heads. I patted him on the shoulder and crawled out. I slipped between the houses, going clockwise around the hamlet, shouting our password as I ran. The river was quiet, as we had expected. Without stopping to talk to the men there, I pushed on toward the sounds of fighting at Nhan’s side.

  The west side of the hamlet was flanked by open paddies. I joined Nhan in his trench. They had repelled the first probing charge. The VC were gathering behind a shallow dike sixty yards from the fence. What looked like a breeze moving through the rice field was actually dozens of troops crawling in the paddy mud. They had camouflaged themselves with rice stalks. Even with the half-moon, it was nearly impossible to see them unless they moved or fired at us.

  Suddenly Nhan started firing. “Here they come again!”

  I radioed Lan. “Tiger-one. This is Tiger-six. Come in, over!”

  “Tiger-six, artillery support is coming soon. What’s your situation?”

  “Shell the east side immediately. We’re under attack here too. What is taking them so long?”

  “Artillery is coming soon for the west side.”

  “Listen, they’ve got two guns. Have one shell the creek-side, and the other shell the paddy-side. We’re going to be overrun in a couple of minutes! Get on it! Over and out.”

  It was crazy that it took them so long to fire the damn cannons when they had the coordinates and hours to prepare. I turned to Nhan and shouted, “Hold them! I’ll bring more men to reinforce your position.”

  Leaving my rifle with Nhan, I drew my pistol and held the radio in my other hand. I sprinted so fast the dirt road looked like a velvety moonlit blur, as smooth as leather, elongating hypnotically. It felt as though I was flying, but I couldn’t seem to go fast enough. In the back of my mind, I was half expecting one of the villagers, a VC infiltrator, to step out of the shadow and put a bullet through me.

  I took two men from the riverbank and another pair from the front gate. When we got to Nhan’s side, they were nearly overwhelmed. I deployed the four men along the wall.

  Phht. Phht. Phht. Bullets punched through the bamboo walls and zinged past me. In several spots, the VC came within ten yards of the wall. My men hit them with nearly every shot. I dove back into Nhan’s trench.

  Nhan smiled his weird smile and said, “We’re in real trouble now.”

  I peered through the fence and shuddered. Sixty yards away, the dike swarmed with shadows. They moved toward us like a dark ripple.

  “Kill! Kill! Kill! Aaaaaa!” they screamed. Their voices merged and climbed to a crescendo, the crazy words overlapping into one continuous chilling note.

  The urge to flee was overwhelming. I had never shot or killed anyone. I sighted an attacker coming directly at me, but I couldn’t squeeze the trigger. He trudged awkwardly in the thick paddy. It was like watching someone moving across quicksand. He fired his AK-47. The instant the fence in front of me exploded, my finger closed down on the trigger. Bang! The figure slumped into the paddy like a melting shadow.

  “Kill!…Kill!…Kill!…Kill!” They surged forward without respite.

  Nhan turned to me and asked casually, “How many men do you think they have?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a hundred and fifty—at least a full company. Probably more in reserve.”

  One of our men cried and slid down in a heap at the bottom of the trench. Bullets drummed the length of the wall. I fired without debate or remorse. The heavy AK-47 fire kept us low against the mound. I found myself ducking and inching along the fence for cover. Attackers swarmed forward, screaming, “Kill! Kill!” Their covering fire was so fierce, we couldn’t aim with any accuracy. Their charge was severely hampered by the mud, but we still couldn’t drop them quickly enough. Their machine guns ripped holes in the fence almost large enough for a man to crawl through.

  Just as I was about to order the retreat, I heard the gut-clenching sound of incoming artillery: eeeeeeEEEEUU—BOOM! eeeeeeEEEEUU—BOOM!

  The bombardment was f
alling on the other side of the hamlet. I ran over to Viet’s perimeter. The shells were striking too far away. I radioed Lan and adjusted the coordinates. Within minutes, shells fell right on top of the enemy. I ran back to the other side just as the first shell came down precisely between our lines and theirs.

  The men cheered. Between the explosions and the gunfire, the wounded wailed.

  Although I knew the shells would fall outside the fence, I couldn’t help but cringe at the whine of every incoming shell. It was like a judgment bugle from above, utterly demoralizing. The detonation was a comforting conclusion: If you heard the boom, you were still alive.

  The attackers wavered. Some crouched down into the water; others moved warily as though they could sneak past the bombardment. Feet shackled by mud, they stumbled forward bravely, firing their AK-47s, the muzzle-flashes like fireworks. We picked them off steadily. It was the hour of attrition, our ammunition ticking away with the seconds. I had no idea how long they would last.

  The battle raged on, shells screeching down like falling stars, bloodied men sinking into the paddy to nourish the rice grains that would feed children and peasants—both Communists and Nationalists.

  We heard Viet’s whistle: The enemy had breached our defense. Within seconds we found ourselves being shot at from the flank. I signaled Nhan to retreat. The order quickly traveled along the defense. We scurried from the shadow of one house to the next, exchanging fire with the attackers. Fighting broke out all over the hamlet. It was impossible to know who was shooting at whom. We pulled back to the seven huts surrounding the common house. In the confusion, two more cadres were injured and one was killed.

  Viet, Nhan, and I met in the common house to assess our situation. We had twenty-four men left, including ourselves and the three wounded who were still capable of fighting, and were down to roughly twenty rounds apiece. I radioed Lan to cancel the artillery bombardment and report that we had pulled back to our secondary defense position and were in desperate need of reinforcement. Lan relayed that Trieu said he would send troops at dawn. Viet, Nhan, and I looked at each other. Dawn was a death sentence.

  I wanted to thank them for using their experience and courage to get us this far, but I couldn’t say a word. We shook hands and wished each other good luck before heading back to our separate huts.

  MY housing was a single-room hut with a thin bamboo partition separating the living from the sleeping area. It had one door, three windows, and a thatched roof. I had four men. I ordered two to stay on guard and the other two to make a hole in the mud wall at the back of the hut. If the enemy set the hut on fire, we needed an escape. Then we waited. Sitting in the dark waiting for the final shoot-out, I realized that the VC had never spent this many men to kill a bunch of lowly RD cadres. It seemed very odd.

  There was intermittent gunfire nearby. One of my men shot at four guerrillas approaching our hut. They fled into a hut across the street. The enemy was taking its time narrowing down our location. They didn’t mount an attack, seemingly intent only on securing their position. They must have known they could wipe us out with a single charge. A few grenades through the windows would have finished us.

  After two hours of inactivity, I sent one of the vets out to check on the other huts. The instant he dashed out the door, the enemy fired so intensely with several AK-47s that I was sure he was dead. He scurried right back in.

  I called Lan and reported our situation, but I dared not tell him we were almost out of ammunition, afraid the enemy could catch our conversation.

  Lan said, “Trieu wants you to find out how strong the guerrillas are.”

  “How strong the guerrillas? Strong enough to overrun us!”

  Lan tried to placate me, saying that he’d tell Trieu that we tried but could not move at all. I told Lan to ask Trieu when we could expect reinforcement. Lan called back later and said any time in the morning. He said he could not be more specific due to security reasons.

  One of my men, an ARVN vet, said, “Oh, don’t worry, they will come. Otherwise, it will look very bad if a whole RD team gets eliminated without some sort of rescue effort from the army. But you can bet they will take their time mobilizing, dragging it out as long as possible, because if we’re wiped out by the time they get here, they won’t have to risk getting involved in the fight.”

  His words struck me. I didn’t have a reply, and all the men knew it. I lay down in a corner to gather myself. I knew my time could come at any moment, yet, at twenty-eight, I was not ready to die. Until now, I always thought I was very lucky. It was a pleasure to stay in the provincial capital most of the time and work with civilians primarily as an administrator. I reported only to the province chief, a lieutenant colonel who, thankfully, was a reasonable man. I got to stay at home with my family. Generally, it didn’t feel like being in the army.

  I could accept being attacked, but seeing my men being treated like bastards by our very own Regional Forces who were supposed to protect us was difficult. Ours was a half-baked paramilitary force, and I did not blame them for looking out for themselves. It was common knowledge that most platoon leaders from the Regional Force avoided battle at all cost. They practiced the combat philosophy of “live and let live,” hoping the Communists would see that they were not the real enemies. With my experience, I strongly doubted this line of thinking. The Communists always attacked when they saw an opening.

  With so many depending on me, I felt more helpless than ever. I was ashamed that I did not have any combat experience. It seemed rather senseless to struggle. Even if I survived this, there would be other battles and ambushes. I was stuck in the army for years. I often wondered if it was in my destiny to be killed like my Uncle Thuan, with a sniper’s bullet in the chest.

  THE hours dragged on. In spite of impending danger, it was a struggle to stay awake in the dark. The house was small and crowded. Every few minutes, I stood up, stretched my legs, and peeked outside. One of the men found some sweet potatoes and a pouch of tea in the hut. He boiled the potatoes, then used the hot water to make tea. At 5:00 a.m., we had our farmer’s breakfast. The tea was thick and bracing, with grits from the potatoes.

  Outside, an indigo stain spread across the eastern sky. A dense ground fog rose from the paddy and poured into the hamlet and obscured the surrounding huts. We were all very restless, but no one wanted to go out again. The sky began to glow. The fog became a milky soup that obscured the bushes and flooded right to the treetops.

  I told my group to hold the position while I went to meet with Viet and Nhan at the common house. I secured the radio strap across my back, checked my pistol, and then crawled through the hole in the back wall. The thick fog and the vegetable garden provided good cover, so I crawled twenty yards to the next house. When I reached the bushes separating the home lots, it seemed safe enough, so I got to my feet. AK-47s cackled ferociously, chopping up the bushes around me. I threw myself down to the ground and scrambled to the common house. Nhung opened the door and I jumped to my feet and charged across the last few yards, tailed by sprays of bullets.

  The three women were crying. They had been taking care of the wounded when we sounded the retreat and didn’t have time to hide with the villagers. The two injured from yesterday had died. They were laid out on the floor with shirts covering their faces. Our situation looked very grim, so I had to assure them that the rescue force would be with us soon enough, although I had not heard anything new from Lan since the time I called to let him know of our withdrawal.

  I waited for Viet and Nhan in the classroom. Sporadic gunfire rang and echoed between the huts. It was gut-wrenching knowing my men were out there.

  Viet and Nhan ducked through the door a few minutes later, looking disheveled and worried.

  “What’s your situation?” I asked.

  “My men have about a dozen rounds left each.” Nhan smiled apologetically.

  “Same here,” Viet said.

  “With this fog, our chances of sneaking out of the hamlet are bett
er than last night,” I said.

  “It’s very hard to carry wounded people without making noise. We don’t have stretchers,” Nhan said

  “We can create diversions,” I said.

  “If we don’t make it to the hills by dawn, we’d be exposed in the middle of the road,” Viet said.

  “Staying here without ammo is suicidal,” I insisted.

  “We know, Lieutenant, but going out there is suicidal too,” Nhan said, looking at his feet.

  “Yes, it’s bad either way, but I prefer to go.” I was willing to go alone, but I couldn’t. They would think their commander was abandoning them.

  Neither Viet nor Nhan replied. We stood there in silence, measuring each other. These brave vets would go into battle on my word. I knew then at that moment that it was a matter of conscience. It simply was not my prerogative to order them into battle. They had signed up to do social work as public servants, not to fight as soldiers—and they were not compensated as such.

  “You are the majority,” I said. It was a sinking sensation. I was being pulled deeper into this nightmare. “We will stay.”

  AFTER sunrise, Lieutenant Lan called with a report. Captain Trieu had ordered a two-pronged rescue of two platoons from the district seat and two platoons from the hills several miles away—the same group that had been sharing their campsite with my team. Carelessly relying on daylight to expose the enemy, the regional commanders of both groups brought their troops to An Binh from opposite directions on the primary interprovince road, confident that the VC had vanished before daybreak. The L-19 scout plane, a two-seater prop, didn’t spot the enemy camouflaged in bushes and submerged in the paddy water. The truck convoy from the district was decimated crossing a bridge, no doubt by the same machine guns that ambushed us yesterday.

  The platoons from the hills came on foot. Suspicious of another ambush, they marched in a single, staggered column and so suffered fewer casualties when the enemy sprung the trap. Even with the air support of two World War II Thunderbolts, they could neither retreat nor overwhelm their attackers. It was a stalemate. Lan relayed new orders from Trieu. We were to evacuate the hamlet and reinforce this platoon.