Goodnight Saigon

by Charles Henderson

  Seeing the tens of thousands of refugees jamming the roadways, leaders of the advancing North Vietnamese Army quickly realized the great advantage that the traffic-packed highways gave them. They soon adopted the tactic of firing rockets and artillery into communities, despite no military forces holding those grounds, so that the inhabitants would flee and fill every thoroughfare. This caused grave concern among the ARVN soldiers, most of whom had families in the local areas, and scores of them deserted their ranks, seeking to look after their loved ones instead of fighting. The jam of people on the roadways also virtually stopped the South Vietnamese from moving any crew-served weaponry, munitions, equipment, or stores. It left their remaining ranks afoot and ferrying any supplies and ammunition on their backs. This prospect sent even more of their faltering ranks over the side.

  As The’s regiment edged closer to Da Nang, moving one by one past the small farming hamlets scattered among the rice fields south and west of the city, peasants ran out to greet his soldiers and brought them bowls of rice and cups of water. Old women sat stoically in the doorways of their grass-topped huts and watched the hordes march by.

  ON HIGHWAY 1 AT DA NANG’S SOUTHERN EDGE

  “DIRCK, LOOK OUT where you’re going,” Alan Dawson, United Press International’s bureau chief for both Vietnam and Cambodia, called to his friend, Dirck Halstead, a photojournalist for Time magazine, who clumsily tripped along the roadside, looking at the misty, early morning world through his Canon F-1 camera’s viewfinder rather than watching where he stepped. The pair had hitched a ride on an Air America helicopter from Saigon, March 22, taking part in Consul General Francis’s press show in Hue only three days before the besieged city surrendered to the Communists.

  Dawson had fired a quick cable to his Saigon bureau, posting a one-paragraph blurb citing Al Francis’s optimism in stark contrast to the visibly crumbling reality that surrounded the city. It went nowhere because Hue fell before he could use it as a part of any real story. Besides, the comments would have served little more purpose than to make one of the better American representatives in South Vietnam look nearly as foolish as the ambassador appeared of late. In the face of all the disaster, with the northern provinces crumbling by the second, Graham Anderson Martin kept his harangue loud and rhetoric clear that South Vietnam would stand despite current appearances and finally turn back the raging tiger.

  “Dirck, you have to keep up with me, or we’ll get separated in this mess,” Dawson called a hundred yards behind, where a camera-bedangled Halstead crouched, snapping pictures of the face of a crying child, apparently lost in the throng of people jammed on Highway 1 on the southern outskirts of Da Nang. Behind the child, in the scene that the 24-millimeter lens had framed, dozens of frantic peasants crowded each other, pushing by inches toward the overspilling city. In the distance beyond them, columns of black smoke rose from the burning villages left by the Communists’ artillery and rocket fire that had for the moment ceased with dawn.

  “Coming,” Dirck whined and sadly patted the tyke.

  “Leave her there, Dirck,” Al Dawson shouted, seeing the look on the face of his friend. Dirck Halstead had a heart too big to leave a crying child behind. “Her parents will find her right there. She has a better chance sitting it out here than you hauling her to Da Nang with you. Besides, what on earth could you do with her? Take her back to Washington, DC?”

  “Right, of course, you’re right,” Dirck said and patted the child once more. Then he turned and pushed his way toward Dawson, who now stood at the side of Highway 1, waiting.

  “We want to turn right, just up here,” Dawson said, pointing to a branch in the highway. “Then we walk three or four miles out China Beach to the Marble Mountain. We can probably catch an Air America chopper ride back to Saigon there. First helicopter we see, we’re getting on. We need to get out of here, fast.”

  “Bloody nightmare!” Dirck said, walking at his friend’s side, holding one of his three cameras high in his hand, snapping random overhead shots of the crowded roadways. “Even in the worst case, I could not have imagined seeing anything like this.”

  “It will only get worse tomorrow,” Dawson said, plodding forward through the mill of people crowding even this side road that led only to the military helicopter base and naval pier and the China Beach resort on the opposite side of the peninsula.

  “Right,” Halstead said, searching the sky and catching the flashing red beacon on a gray Huey descending toward the landing site ahead of them. “If we hurry, maybe that guy can hitch us a ride home.”

  VIET MARINE HQ , MARBLE MOUNTAIN

  “SIR,” the captain who served as Brigadier General Bui The Lan’s aide anxiously called to the South Vietnamese Marine Corps Commandant, “I can raise no one at General Truong’s headquarters. No one answers their telephones!”

  “Let me try,” the general said, suspiciously. He dialed one number, then another, and then another. No one answered.

  “Sir,” the captain then added, “our OP on the hill reports that the MR 1 command has taken every air transport asset out. We have no helicopters or any other utility aircraft. General Truong and his staff have apparently fled south. They have also fully closed Da Nang Air Base, and what few flights still leave from Marble Mountain landing field are strictly controlled by the Americans and limited to their people.”

  “Send the chief of staff here immediately,” the general fumed. After General Bui gave the captain a few additional instructions, the aide left.

  In a moment, a disheveled colonel stepped through the doorway and looked anxiously at the general.

  “MR 1 command has abandoned us here,” the Marine commandant said bluntly. “They have apparently taken all air transports, and evacuated what numbers of their own people that they can carry. With Da Nang Air Base closed and no lift capabilities at Marble Mountain able to handle our numbers, we have few options.”

  “I gathered that,” the colonel said.

  “We have two brigades on the fringes of the city, and they cannot hold those defenses on their own,” the general said. “Send orders for them to abandon their equipment, scuttle the heavy arms, and deploy their forces, as best they can, to this headquarters, immediately.

  “We have navy ships landing at our docks tonight, and I will hold them here until morning. These boats can carry fifteen hundred men. That means we will have to make at least three trips to evacuate all of our remaining Marines, if they can get here in time.”

  “I will send the order immediately,” the colonel said and turned to leave the general’s office, but the general’s voice stopped him.

  “The captain has the information,” the general said. “Come and sit for a moment while we consider the finality of the situation here.”

  The colonel sank slowly into a chair near a coffee table and let out a long sigh as he stretched his legs. He had not relaxed in days, and the stress had taken a heavy toll on him.

  “I do not blame General Truong,” Bui The Lan said sadly. “Our problems began with the president’s redeployment of MR 1 forces to Saigon. He robbed us of any ability to maneuver a reserve force that could reinforce the units where the enemy struck. Without that ability to maneuver reserves where needed, our forces could only sit and be overrun. Then, we had to fill the gaps in our defenses here and at Hue left by the Airborne Division, giving up our strongholds in Quang Tri without so much as a fight.

  “This perceived loss alone had an untold impact on the morale of our soldiers and our Marines. It shook their very confidence.

  “With so many of the First and Second ARVN divisions’ soldiers having come from homes in these provinces, I am not surprised at their massive desertions. They are understandably torn between their families and their duties to their country. Witnessing poor leadership, they chose to run with their loved ones. The civilian panic itself left our own forces unsettled, and most of them come from homes in the south, near Saigon.

  “Losing the 147th Brigade hurt us badly and
I think destroyed the confidence of General Truong. I believe he had tied all of his hopes on their coming here to bolster our defenses. With news of their loss, Truong went silent.”

  “What shall we do, General?” the colonel said in a tired voice, truly at a loss of ideas.

  “We will regroup our Marines at Vung Tao,” the general answered. “With the men we have here from the 468th Brigade and the six thousand or so from the 369th and 258th brigades, if they can retreat here by tomorrow, and if we can evacuate them successfully, then we can reconstitute a respectable force. However, we will need equipment.”

  Brigadier General Bui, however, lost both equipment and troops to his plan. When the two remaining South Vietnamese Marine brigades received the retreat orders, the discouraging news fractured their battalions into roaming armed bands. They took what combat equipment they could carry and abandoned their crew served weapons without destroying them. Scuttling the artillery pieces, tanks, and heavy guns took time—time they now realized they did not have.

  Running from their defensive strongholds, the Viet Marines fled toward the city in roving groups of two, three, and four men, as well as in more organized squads of a dozen and more. While many of the Marines fought through increasing numbers of NVA and Viet Cong forces, cowboys, and frantic civilians, struggling to continue to carry out orders and rendezvous at Marble Mountain for evacuation, others simply went on a rampage.

  NAVY PIER, MARBLE MOUNTAIN

  “YOU MUST LET us on the boat!” the frantic man in a white shirt and slacks screamed at the Viet Marine standing guard at the gangway of the South Vietnamese Navy boat while scores of his comrades scrambled aboard, behind their commandant, Major General Bui The Lan. The civilian clung to the chain-link fence that bordered the docks, and he stood, slammed into the steel mesh, pushed by hundreds of other civilians who had heard news of a seaborne evacuation at the Marble Mountain boat basin and desperately sought to make this last-ditch passage from Da Nang.

  “Only Marine Corps personnel,” the guard shouted coldly.

  Viet Marines had begun boarding the vessels at 6:00 a.m., March 29, while their cohorts from the 369th and 258th brigades straggled through the gates at Marble Mountain in groups of three and four and hurried to join their brothers already aboard the ships. With the retreating bands of Marines came hundreds of other South Vietnamese soldiers they had met along the way. Seeing the soldiers heading toward apparent safety, scores of frantic civilians followed them.

  When the first group of ships carrying the Viet Marine commandant and fifteen hundred of his men pushed away from the pier, the lucky few aboard the vessels watched as the panic-stricken crowds tore down the chain-link fence and toppled the guardhouse at the entrance to the docks.

  Dozens of fellow Viet Marines waved hopefully at their departing brothers and then began dealing with the advancing crush of people by shooting their rifles directly into the clamoring throngs.

  When the South Vietnamese Navy ships returned to the pier that afternoon for their next evacuation loads, they approached a disastrous sight. Vying for space in the next boats out, Viet Marines had engaged in a heavy firefight with ARVN soldiers, slaughtering untold numbers of them and civilians caught in their cross fire. Rather than tying up and taking aboard the embattled Marines, the ships turned and headed back southward to Nha Trang and Vung Tao.

  Chapter 12

  ESCAPE FROM DA NANG

  DA NANG, RVN—FRIDAY, MARCH 28

  “GUNNY,” Al Francis called to Staff Sergeant Walter Sparks, who jogged along the upstairs walkway at the American consulate. “Give me a quick status report.”

  “Sir, the street blockades went defunct yesterday evening while you were out at Marble Mountain,” Sparks replied. “All nonessential consulate staff, both military and civilian, have successfully departed to Saigon. That handful of Vietnamese who mans the outside gates and the five interior guard Marines I kept here with me represent our full combat complement. Only reason these ARVN have not deserted like all the others, I made a command decision and promised them safe passage out with us. We needed their firepower, so I struck a deal with them.

  “We’ve got bedlam in the city, getting worse by the minute: nonstop traffic jams at the gates, cowboys and renegade ARVN shooting up the streets, and everybody and their cousins still wanting evacuation tickets. So far we’ve kept things pretty tight inside the consulate, except for a few South Vietnamese Army officers who straggled up with their families.Maybe we can still get them out on one of the Air America flights from Marble Mountain.”

  Francis looked toward the front gate and then gazed over the portal’s red tile roof, looking blankly at the tops of the trees that grew in a line along the street outside. Exhaustion showed on his face as he shifted his eyes back to the staff sergeant and spoke in a dry voice, “Not likely, Gunny.”

  “Marble Mountain out?” Sparks asked sadly.

  “Situation there has become untenable,” Francis said. “Security started falling apart this morning, putting the flights in serious jeopardy, so Saigon shut them down. The Viet Marines billeted there will depart by boat in the morning, so forget any help from them. Meanwhile, with the Vietnamese seeing the evacuation flights running hot and heavy, they’ve started crashing the airfield fences. So Marble Mountain has begun to run amok. The Marines have the dock still secured for their departure, but that’s it.”

  “I thought something like that had gone on,” Sparks said. “I was on the radio with the Air America guy at the terminal, and he told me that it was all over. The planes wouldn’t land.”

  “Saigon suspended all Da Nang flights at about 10:30 this morning,” Francis said. “It has been an absolute nightmare.

  “Yesterday, after first diverting the lighter aircraft missions to Marble Mountain because they were so easily overrun by the mobs, I finally had to shut down all operations at the Da Nang terminal at eight o’clock last night. By then, the crowds had begun overrunning everything.

  “Luckily, Air America had dropped in with a CH-47 helicopter, so I took that aircraft, put the last outbound load of evacuees on it, along with the Da Nang terminal crew and myself, and we went to Marble Mountain. The evacuees, mostly a bunch of American contractors who should have left here days ago, and for one reason or another stalled until the last minute, caught an Air America C-47 to Saigon. I had the remaining Americans that we had working in the terminal brought to the consulate compound last night. We’ll all ride out together, late tonight, when we shut things down here. I’ve arranged for a helicopter lift with Air America to take us out.”

  WHEN EVACUATION OPERATIONS at Da Nang Air Base began, they flowed smoothly, and the Americans and Vietnamese awaiting their turns for departure remained orderly. People came to the consulate, verified their identities, established that they met the criteria for space on the flights, and got a ticket.

  As flight after flight lifted from Da Nang Air Base, the North Vietnamese closed on the city. During early morning on March 27, the Communists sent a barrage of 120-millimeter artillery rounds crashing into Da Nang’s heart, killing eleven people with the first impacts. Terror immediately radiated outward from that opening salvo, like a circle of waves from a rock crashing into a pond. At once frantic people let go of what little control they had maintained, and now they fled blindly though the streets. Soon boats crowded the Han River, overloaded with people running to the sea, desperately tempting their fate against the treacherous currents, rocks, and tides, hoping to escape down the coastline. Simultaneously, crowds of other panic-stricken Vietnamese led by deserted soldiers converged on Da Nang Air Base, hoping to bargain passage or even force their way aboard the departing flights.

  Moments after the Communist rockets and artillery began striking throughout the city in sporadic clusters, gunfire erupted in the streets. The cowboys, joined by renegade deserters, began shooting and looting as rumor spread of the NVA now lurking within Da Nang’s outskirts, poised for the kill.

  ARVN range
rs, some of South Vietnam’s most disciplined and best trained soldiers, deserted their posts by scores and joined the chaos, roaming the streets in armed bands, shooting anyone who crossed them. They too advanced on the airport, hoping to commandeer flights.

  That same morning, Al Francis had gone by jeep to Da Nang Air Base to observe the evacuation operations there. The short drive that during calmer days usually lasted only fifteen minutes now took nearly two hours to negotiate. The consul general’s nerves had already spent themselves by the time he arrived at the airport shortly before nine o’clock.

  Inside the terminal, people jammed and shoved each other. An individual could not simply walk from one place to the next, but had to find the direction of flow that went the desired way and jump in it. Security and order rapidly fell out of control.

  Al Francis’s temper bubbled tight against his temples as he held a black, foot-long two-way radio with its flat tape antenna in his right hand and slapped it repeatedly into the palm of his left hand. He watched two of the CIA operations crew helping a group of Vietnamese families with a chorus of crying children across the crowded terminal, pushing hard to plow through an opposing current of frantic people. A plane waited for them at the gate, and they were the last passengers scheduled to board it.

  Before the escorted group had reached their departure point, a white with red trim World Airways Boeing 727 taxied into the chocks at the next gate. Seeing the fresh flight rolling to a stop, a swarm of unticketed Vietnamese suddenly bolted for the plane. They overran Al Francis, the CIA escorts, and the authorized passengers, attempting to commandeer seats aboard the newly arrived aircraft.

  As other unticketed Vietnamese saw the group pushing their way through the gate, they too joined the mayhem. Rapidly, the entire terminal started to boil over.