Goodnight Saigon

by Charles Henderson

  “Your femoral artery has torn in two,” the soldier said to him in a matter-of-fact voice. “I must stop this bleeding or you will die.”

  “Do what you must,” Reung said. “I will deal with the pain.”

  The soldier tending Reung’s wound ripped up his own shirt and tied a big knot in one of the strips and stuffed it onto the still-oozing artery. Against that knot he tied a second tourniquet and then twisted the strap tight with a stick.

  Le Van Reung wanted to scream, but bit his index finger and knuckle instead.

  “Give him some water,” the soldier who had managed to stop the bleeding said to the guerrilla kneeling by the squad leader’s head.

  “I was a surgical and trauma nurse at Pleiku, in the ARVN,” the soldier then said to Reung. “I think you will lose this leg. It seems badly broken, and you have extensive tissue and artery damage. By the time we get you to our field hospital, the lower leg will have even more damage because of the lack of blood to it. I had to shut off everything to stop the femoral artery’s bleeding. The blast tore it to shreds. Do you have any questions?”

  “What about my other leg?” Reung said.

  “Ugly looking, but alive,” the soldier then said and smiled. “Cuts mostly, lots of shrapnel in it. You will pick metal from it for years to come.”

  A guerrilla took the dead boy and put him across his shoulders and began trekking behind the point guard who now led the patrol toward the rear.

  Le Van Reung put his arms around the necks of two of his VC comrades, and they raised him to his one foot. While they held him still, the soldier who tended his wound tied the mangled leg to the other one, taking several wraps so that it could not move.

  “This will minimize the pain of that bad leg moving so much,” the soldier said

  They laid Reung on a makeshift stretcher that they fashioned from tying several of the soldiers’ shirts onto parallel poles. With a man at each corner, they too moved out, following the guerrilla who carried the dead boy.

  NORTHERN FLANK OF THE CU CHI FRONT

  THE NIGHT SKY came alight with shell bursts from the Twenty-fifth ARVN Division’s array of tanks and 175-millimeter artillery firing its final protective fire along the northern flank of the Cu Chi front. Nguyen Duc Qui sat by a bank of radios and clapped his hands as he heard the report flowing from the 320th NVA Division’s first assault units as they pushed across the Saigon River and broke through the right flank of the South Vietnamese Army’s line.

  Behind his division’s regiments, elements of the 316th, 70th, and 968th divisions forded the river and then deployed southward toward Cu Chi, north of Highway 1. With their first strike, they had put the ARVN forward units into a hasty retreat under a hail of artillery and tank fire.

  Watching the flash signatures of the stationary units and comparing them with the reconnaissance reports that the Viet Cong guerrillas had gathered days earlier, the heavy artillery of the NVA’s 68th Artillery Regiment plotted those enemy positions as targets and opened fire on them.

  Cui’s regiments had launched their attacks as a light infantry assault group with no more than rifles, automatic weapons, B-41 rockets, B-40 rocket-propelled grenades, and 82-millimeter mortars. First contact had raised some resistance from the ARVN defenders along the river. When the second wave then struck, the violence of the RPG, mortar, and rocket barrage with the heavy fire from the rifles and automatic weapons apparently shook the ARVN soldiers’ confidence, and they began to retreat. As the South Vietnamese forces fled their bunkers guarding the river, they called in the final protective fire from their artillery and tanks.

  Not only had the NVA taken control of a several-mile-long stretch of the Saigon River, opening their northern flank route to Highway 1 and Dong Zu Base at Cu Chi, but they now had a clear avenue to their remaining objectives Hoc Mon, Ba Diem, and finally Saigon. All that stood between the Third NVA Corps and South Vietnam’s capital was the level of determination displayed by the Cu Chi front’s defenders, the Twenty-fifth ARVN Division, and the Eighth and Ninth ARVN Rangers.

  NVA FIELD HEADQUARTERS AT LOC NINH

  “WHAT ARE YOUR thoughts on Xuan Loc?” General Van Tien Dung said to Tran Van Tra, who had just finished reading the morning situation report from General Le Truong Tan. “We take the ARVN off balance with our assault, capture a good measure of their positions, take control of the crossroads, and then send our forces back even farther behind our original line of departure, virtually losing ground to the enemy in his counterattack.”

  “Not surprising,” Tran said, taking off his wire-frame glasses. “At some point I fully expected the ARVN to finally show some resistance. Not all of their leaders have issues with corruption and ineptness. I see a very strong and determined leader in Brigadier General Le Minh Dao, whose Eighteenth Division we have now engaged. These latest events suggest to me that perhaps we did not fully appreciate the determination of this force or its leader.”

  “Is this a touch of animosity speaking?” General Dung said.

  “Of course, I would not be an honest soldier if I did not admit that I would rather have command of those forces than see General Tan doing it,” Tran Van Tra admitted. “However, I would not be a good soldier either if I consciously allowed any personal issues to influence my assessment of the situation at Xuan Loc.”

  “So this is your honest candor?” Dung said.

  Tran Van Tra nodded. “Honestly,” he then said, “this setback may well do our armies good. Sometimes a small defeat enables a much greater victory.”

  “A positive thought in the face of such otherwise negative news,” Dung said.

  The supreme commander of North Vietnam’s armed forces walked to the small, simple square table where Tran Van Tra sat and picked up the report that the Viet Cong commander in chief had just read. General Dung then pulled out a small chair and relaxed on its wooden seat. He looked at his old philosophical friend and then cracked a smile across his furrowed and formerly frowning face.

  “At first I felt a good deal of anger about this,” Dung admitted. “Like you, I suspected that the command had not fully appreciated the very strong likelihood of a massive counterattack. Until now, the enemy has cut and run. In some instances, they fled their defenses while we still consolidated our force and had yet to attack them. This totally confounded me. Certainly, I had not, nor had anyone else, expected such good fortune.

  “News from the western front at Cu Chi reports that our Third Corps enjoyed great success against the enemy, pushing them well south and east of the Saigon River and encountering few instances of counterattacks. While I am grateful that the progress has come so easily purchased, I am not foolish enough to believe that those enemy units can fall back much farther without finally locking their heels and putting up a hard fight. When they retreat to Hoc Mon and Phu Cuong, I expect that we will encounter determination very much like that which General Tan has found at Xuan Loc.

  “The short-lived victory that we celebrated at Xuan Loc, only to have it so forcefully wrestled from our clutch, certainly will remind General Tan to not count out the ARVN with their backs to Saigon. I suspect that our hero from Da Nang will also look to regain some respect too with the face that he lost in his retreat. I pity those soldiers with General Dao now.”

  “They have the prerogative to surrender,” Tran Van Tra said.

  “As they should have done yesterday, instead of counterattacking and retaking all they had lost,” Dung said and laughed. “It is such a shame that we did not engage them more forcefully while we had them aboveground. Now with this snake, Dao, back in his den, bunkered well, and today reinforced with artillery and tanks, this fight may take a good bit of time and effort to finally win.”

  UNITED PRESS INTERNATIONAL, SAIGON BUREAU

  “COFFEE, DIRCK?” Al Dawson said as Dirck Halstead squashed into a vinyl-covered sofa chair in the United Press International Saigon news headquarters where its bureau chief and lead reporter sat pecking a story on a teletype.
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  “No thanks,” the Time magazine photojournalist said, not wantingto disturb his friend and knowing how wicked the UPI office brew could get after a few hours of simmering.

  “There are some Cokes and other things in the refrigerator, if something else will do,” Dawson said, not looking away from his work. “Just a minute and I will finish punching this tape and get it fed on the wire. I am on deadline for this story, so I can’t stop right now.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt you,” Halstead said, wandering to the refrigerator and popping open the door. He found several cans of Orange Crush on the bottom shelf and took one.

  “Big story?” Dirck said, pulling the tab on the can and tossing the tin strip into a trash can filled with yards of perforated, yellow paper tape next to the teletype machine where Dawson clacked at the keyboard.

  “The Battle of Xuan Loc rages on the outskirts of Saigon,” Dawson said.

  “A little exaggerated maybe, Al,” Dirck said, sipping the sweet orange drink. “Last time I drove to Xuan Loc, it took quite awhile to get there. Bien Hoa takes at least half an hour to drive.”

  “Relatively speaking,” Dawson countered. “Xuan Loc is the gateway to Saigon.”

  “I thought that was Bien Hoa,” the photographer said.

  “Did you come here to piss me off, or what?” Dawson said. “Compared to Da Nang and Nha Trang, Xuan Loc sits on Saigon’s doorstep.”

  “I’m just trying to rattle you a little,” Halstead said and gulped down more of the Orange Crush.

  “I don’t rattle,” Dawson said as he jumped from the swivel chair and gave it a kick back toward his desk, sending its seat spinning as it glided on its pedestal’s six wheels.

  “For a little guy, you talk awfully tough,” the photographer said.

  “That’s because of my massive endowment and rugged looks,” Dawson, a slight-built young man with long brown hair hanging over his collar and ears, boasted.

  “Now that your breaking news story has hit the wire, what’s the scoop?” Halstead said.

  “First,” Dawson said, taking a Coke from the refrigerator and pulling open its tab, “Xuan Loc is a great story, and if I can get a chopper ride in there, I will take you with me. We have that really flamboyant, tough talking general in charge there.”

  “Le Minh Dao” Dirck said, interrupting.

  “Like a peacock with a megaphone,” Dawson said. “By himself he makes good copy. However, they kicked serious ass yesterday and last night.”

  “No news,” Dirck said. “They lost Xuan Loc and got it back. Story’s cold.”

  “The NVA have pulled out all the stops and have committed their reserves and reinforcements to this fight, and General Dao still holds the crossroads and the city,” Dawson said. “His Eighteenth ARVN Division has stopped the Communist push dead in its tracks.”

  MARINE CORPS PUBLIC AFFAIRS OFFICE, OKINAWA

  “LET’S PLAY A game,” Captain Jerry Shelton said to Staff Sergeant Joe Carr and newly promoted Sergeant Steve Tingley, who had pinned on his third chevron April 1.

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Skipper?” Carr said in his typically swarthy tone, still tempering it with respect to the commissioned officer who had just spoken to him.

  “The game’s called ‘Where in Hell Is Marshal Lon Nol Now?’ ” Shelton said and laughed.

  “Nobody bought that goodwill tour bullshit the other day when he packed bags and headed out of Cambodia,” Carr said.

  “Khmer Rouge commenced fire before Nol’s plane even landed in Bangkok,” Tingley offered. “This about Phnom Penh, Skipper?”

  “Lon Nol’s in Indonesia, by the way, vacationing at the invitation of the president in Jakarta, in case you gave a shit about the game. At any rate, while he tours the world, his capital and government are on the verge of collapse. Today, President Ford ordered the immediate evacuation of the American embassy, all US citizens in Phnom Penh, and several thousand third-country nationals trapped there,” Shelton said. “I just got word that Admiral Noel Gayler has passed orders from CINCPAC (Commander in Chief, Pacific) to III MAF to launch the 31st MAU ashore and commence Operation Eagle Pull.”

  “Skipper, can I go?” Tingley said, in a pleading whine.

  “Shut the fuck up, beak face,” Staff Sergeant Carr snapped.

  “Bite me where your mama used to kiss me last,” Tingley cracked, grabbing himself in the crotch and laughing.

  “You stupid shit,” Carr said. “Bite me where your mama kissed me last? I’ll put my foot up your ass.”

  “I need you here,” Shelton said and flashed a sideways look at the staff sergeant. “You’ve got the community relations job with Mr. Nakaoshi and Mr. Nishizato.”

  “Skipper, Herb Nakaoshi does everything, and I just watch,” Tingley pled. “Nishizato takes care of everything else. I don’t even speak Japanese. Tompkins can keep the books and budget reports. I’ve shown him how.”

  “Tingley,” the captain said, trying to keep a friendly tone, but remaining firm, “I need a correspondent who can launch tonight and be on that ship by morning. I doubt you even have any 782 gear drawn. More importantly, I know how badly you write. You take great photos, but your writing sucks.”

  “Sir,” Staff Sergeant Carr offered, “My man Killer Carl Ebert has the bubble. He’s next in line for deployment. He can shoot good pictures and writes well enough.”

  “Better send him up the hill to get packed and then get him to Futima air station,” Shelton said. “They have a C-130 to Cubi Point launching at 1800, and I want him on it. From there he can hitch a ride on the logistics helicopter out to the MAU, aboard the USS Okinawa. Make sure he knows where to go and who to see, so write this down and give it to him. Have Sergeant Ebert report directly to Colonel John F. Roche, Thirty-first Marine Amphibious Unit commander, and have him also see Lieutenant Colonel George P. Slade, the commanding officer of Battalion Landing Team Two-Four.”

  “Lance Corporal Carlson deployed from here with two-four. Where is he now?” Staff Sergeant Carr said.

  “Not sure at this moment,” Shelton said. “Last message from Gunny Thurman said that the amphibious task force had finally rendezvoused and now stood ready on station off the coast of South Vietnam, near Vung Tao. That’s a port on the coast, somewhere southeast of Saigon. He’s on the Blue Ridge with Brigadier General Richard E. Carey, Colonel Al Gray, and the 9th MAB command element. He said nothing about our gung ho lance corporal, and you know Carlson. He’s unquestionably out there among the grunts somewhere, refusing to show his face for fear he might have to go sit in the headquarters. He could be with two-four, but he could just as likely have jumped ship and gone hunting with his old buddies at one-nine. Sergeant Ebert needs to get out to the Okinawa as best as he can and link up with Colonel Roche and Colonel Slade, tonight if possible. They’ll marry him up with Carlson, if the lad is anywhere nearby.”

  “Either that,” Carr growled, “or he’s caught a chopper into Saigon and has set up shop at Mimi’s Whorehouse down on Tu Do Street.”

  GULF OF THAILAND, 130 MILES SOUTHEAST OF PHNOM PENH

  AT 6:00 A.M., APRIL 12, a dozen Marine Corps CH-53D Sea Stallion helicopters from Marine Heavy Helicopter Squadron 462, based aboard the USS Okinawa, carried the 360-man helicopter assault teams of Second Battalion, Fourth Marine Regiment from the decks of the Okinawa and the amphibious dock ship, USS Vancouver (LPD 2), 130 miles to the heart of besieged Phnom Penh, flying in groups of three and separated by ten-minute intervals. Once ashore, those forces immediately secured perimeters of the athletic fields where the helicopters had landed, designated as Landing Zone Hotel, and commenced Operation Eagle Pull, the evacuation of the Cambodian capital.

  A half hour after the final three choppers from HMH-462 had headed inbound, twelve CH-53D Sea Stallion helicopters from sister squadron, Marine Heavy Helicopter Squadron 463, launched to ferry out the last of the American embassy passengers from Phnom Penh.

  Once ashore, the inbound aircraft then enter
ed a holding pattern at Point Oscar, an aerial position thirty miles from the city. From there the helicopters, moving three at a time under the guidance of Air Force air traffic controllers on the ground at the landing zone and stationed in the air aboard an HC-130 forward air controller (FAC) aircraft, flying high above Phnom Penh, moved to LZ Hotel. The choppers remained in the landing zone only long enough to board evacuees and then launch. During any delays, the birds waited airborne instead of sitting on the ground.

  As the helicopters quickly dropped to the LZ, picked up a load, and departed to the ships, several thousand Cambodians crowded around the athletic fields. Most had simply come to see the show. While the heavily armed Marine security force stood almost shoulder to shoulder, keeping the citizenry well away from the evacuation, 107-millimeter rocket fire and 82-millimeter mortar rounds, shot by advancingKhmer Communist forces, began falling closer and closer to the landing zone.

  Ambassador John Gunther Dean and the acting Cambodian president, Saukham Khoy, along with remaining members of the American staff, boarded the last evacuee helicopter from Phnom Penh. It flew President Khoy to the Okinawa and then delivered the ambassador to Ubon Air Base in Thailand.

  Before noon, the 360 Marine security force members had retrieved the last of its riflemen and returned to the ships without firing a single round during the entire operation. As they departed Phnom Penh, however, the Khmer Rouge closed on the athletic fields and now moved their fire dangerously close to the launching helicopters.

  Two air force HH-53 Jolly Green Giant helicopters, extracting the ground controller team, took several hits from ground rifle fire. The second Green Giant took a 12.7-millimeter heavy machine gun round in its tail rotor section. Despite vibrating heavily due to the tail rotor damage and suffering a few oil leaks, both helicopters and their air traffic controller teams returned safely to their home base at Udorn.