I left Fort Benning, Ga, on March 16, 1975 after the graduation of my advanced course when Ban Me Thuot, the highland city some 200 miles north of Saigon was under attack. The city fell when I was visiting Washington DC. The next day, I went to see old Mrs. Mulhall in Phoenixville, Pa, whom I often called mother. Her daughter Elizabeth and son-in-law Raymond Ytzaina have been my close friends since 1967.
When Mrs Mulhall and I were visiting Valley Forge, an old friend of hers told me that I would have to surrender to the North Vietnamese. "You should not say so to my son," Mrs Mulhall said. "He has been serving the South Vietnamese Army for 19 years, doing nothing wrong. He would be fighting the enemy to his last minute..." The old man apologized. I felt ashamed, however, that even though I was doing nothing wrong, I had not done much for my country as I once promised to in the Graduation of my class at the Vietnam Military Academy.
Before I left Phoenixville, Elizabeth and her husband Raymond Ytzaina, now teaching at St. Louis University, said to me from Paris, sobbing, "We'll pray for you..." and, choked by tears, could talk no more.
A few days later, my through bus to San Francisco stopped one early morning at Omaha, Nebraska. On a stand, some newspapers covered the first page with a diagonal black stripe and a short headlines that stunned me for a moment. An old woman of about 70 bought the paper and, holding it against her chest, she cried bitterly after a quick glance at the short headline: "Hue falls! Danang next?" She moaned, "My son was killed in Hue in the 1968 offensive. Now his death is for nothing. How can the city fall so easily?"
I couldn't help telling her I was a Vietnamese officer on my way back to Vietnam. Another old man whose son lost a leg in Vietnam shook my hand. "May God bless you, my friend," he said. "If you fight when you get back there, remember to shoot two more rounds for the old lady and me each time you shoot ten of yours..."
While I stayed in Travis AFB waiting for the flight, I saw TV reports of horrible evacuations including the Boeing 727 hobbling at low altitude to Saigon after being attacked by hand grenade that caused the back door stuck open. All shocked me too much. Some Vietnamese friends of mine living in the States advised me to stay. One of them offered me a loan of $50,000 without interest to start a small business and to bring my family over here. Nevertheless, it was a decision too difficult to make. I always remember a man in a Vietnamese novel saying, "It's difficult to abandon your parents, your wife or children, but it's extremely difficult for you to forsake your fatherland."
On Apr 1, I boarded an USAF chartered plane back to Saigon along with three of my four Vietnamese classmates; the fifth decided to stay. Good-bye calls from my American and Vietnamese friends were full of tears. I didn't know why I told Lawson Magruder - now Commanding General, U.S. Army South, Panama - and his wife Gloria that I felt strongly that I would be back here sometime in the unkhown future. Gloria cried a lot on her phone at Fort Lewis, WA. What I didn't tell them was that I felt certain South Vietnam would fall. No country could survive the fierce attacks from not only the North Vietnamese communists but also from the whole communist block and our unfriendly friends, without full assistance from the USA government.
When I stepped out of the plane at Air America terminal in Tan Son Nhut, the Vietnamese girl who checked the manifest asked me, "Why do you come back? Dalat fell last night." I said nothing, because it must have taken a few hours to explain what I was thinking to one who had never been in the Army
Late on Apr 29, I found that many of my friends had already left the country. I tried to contact some Americans I knew, but unable to locate them by telephone. Many of my men did not report to my unit, a non-combat service. At 4 PM, I stopped by my home for a quick dinner. "Honey, should I stay home with you or go to my barracks?" I asked my children.
"The sergeant and the corporal down the street went to their unit half an hour ago," the eldest, 15 years old said. "You are a field grade..." I knew what she meant. That was my sleepless night, and the roaring of a dozen helicopters evacuating people from the American Embassy terrified me. Thousands of Vietnamese stuck fast to the fence. I tried to reach a US Marine sergeant and asked him to let the two American reporters get in, but no luck, as no one was allowed in or out after about 7 PM. What frightened me most, was not the imminent victory of the North Vietnamese Army, but the feeling of being forsaken by my friends.
At about 10 AM, April 30,General Minh, then president, announced his decision to surrender. About 100 enlisted-men of my unit who had been dubbed as "Saigon Commando" or "Longevity Soldiers" - those who paid bribes to be assigned non-combat jobs around Saigon - were still present. Many of them said they would rather fight to death than surrender and refused to go home when I told them that they were allowed to. A company of paratroops under a captain, drifted from the front line, asked me to let them join for the suicidal last battle. A group of about 50 police officers in a station near by asked me to join as well.
I reported their request to the assistant commander, a brave and honest full colonel, then the highest ranking in my unit. He ordered me to tell the troops that their willing to fight was much appreciated; but they had to abide by the order of the president.
With eyes full of angry tears, he said,:'"Your suicidal fight, however heroic it might be, will not be mentioned by even one single word in western news reports. Your self-sacrifice will be for nothing. You see, even thousands of unarmed civilians' remains found in mass graves around Hue in 1968 were ignored, let alone your three hundred lives." Furthermore, there are your parents, wives, children..."
I returned home when the first NVA troops moved in. Every one of us could tell that each of their battalions had no more than 100 men, but they did defeat us.
In my neighborhood also lived an army major and his family. The major, his wife and 7 children committed suicide after a big lunch. All around the capital, hundreds of people, from buck privates, sergeants, officers, civil servants, statesmen also ended their lives, and probably a thousand others turned permanent lunatic. Their death did not frighten but tempted me. For the first time, I knew why people take their own lives when they are in so much despair. It took me nearly a week to recover from the desire of a painless death. I found out later that my mother secretly had my children watch me all the time and alert her or my wife "if your Dad does something unusual."
From then to 45 days later when we were imprisoned, I always wear clothes bought in Fort Benning of color and styles that were seldom sold in Vietnam. In 1968, I saw some mass graves, each buried hundreds of civilians. Only remains of victims clad in discernible garments were quickly identified by their relatives. .
If anyone asked me how the events affected me, I would say they produced many changes in my opinions, the most profound of which was about the Vietnamese Communist leadership.
Only two or three hours after NVA troops took over Saigon, communist field grade officers fought one another - with weapons at sme places - for luxurious home whose owners had fled the country. Several civilians in Thu Duc were evicted from their villas at short notice. On highways and local roads, our soldiers were robbed of their bikes, especially motorcycles, and personal valuables. Besides, several military and police officers were murdered in villages around Saigon in the first three days.
What shocked me most, however, was that in minutes after taking over the Cong Hoa General Military Hospital, communist commanders gave order to kick all patients to the street, not excluding those who were on operation tables.
Before Apr 30, 1975, though I was a fervent anti-Communist, I still had had some respect for the Vietnamese Communist leaders. After that, not the least of that respect remained in me and I even began to hold them in contempt. They are not such patriots or revolutionaries as they have been cracked up to be.
The day we officers were ordered by the NVA Military Administration of Saigon to report for the so-called "re-education,'" I left home for the camp as if I were a Jew marching to a Nazi death camp. Nevertheless, I have no resentment over the way they treated us in camps. When I served our Army, I had never expected that they would be less savage and cruel. It was their atrocity that made us fight in the anti-Communist front.
I always see the victory on April 30, 1975 of the Vietnamese Communist Party in no way different from the conquest of Asia and Europe by Genghis Khan's armies. They won, but leaving nothing beneficial to the humankind, and consequently, the Mongol Empire disintegrated as their horsemen were dissolved by the culture of the more civilized nations they had conquered.
After 20 years, I only regret one thing: I did not fight to the last minute as Mrs Mulhall said and I did not fire any round for the old lady and the old gentleman on the Greyhound bus as he asked me to.
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