I met and knew him in a rather unexpected situation, which could be quite bizarre. My wife and I visited and stayed at our youngest daughter’s for two weeks in California. She just bought a condo in a newly built condo complex in Anaheim city. It was only a street away from Disneyland. Every night, we went out to the balcony to watch the fireworks being constantly fired from this famous entertainment land. The little house was quite beautiful and located in a safe area. Our daughter loved it. But after only a few days, late at night, about one or two o’clock, all my family was awakened by the clacking in the upper floor of the house. It was the sound of a certain hard object knocking on the floor. It was irregular, such as every three to five minutes, soft enough but can penetrate your head.
The next morning, my daughter asked me to talk to the landlord and to request the stopping of the unpleasant knocks in the middle of the night so that we wouldn’t lose sleep. My daughter had to go to work quite early in the morning.
After two doorbell ringings , a man opened the door slightly, and greeted us with a nod. Thankfully, he was a compatriot. I haven’t spoken to him yet, but I could guess the reason for the noise. He was leaning on two wooden crutches. All my frustration suddenly disappeared. The “warnings” I intended to tell him seriously (how about “the complaints I was about to make” ?) all vanished as well. I greeted him politely telling him we lived downstairs and wanted to get to know our compatriot neighbor. A big smile brightened up his austere and grief-striken face, quite wrinkly and partly covered by his long white hair. He opened the door and invited me to come in. I was a bit uncomfortable with the odor of cigarettes and alcohol .
-“You live here by yourself ?” was my first question.
– “Yes. Sometimes my daughter comes to see me. She lives in Riverside; about an hour of driving from here.”
It was a one-bedroom apartment. The living room was decorated quite simply. Two pictures hanging on the wall behind the dining table, caught my attention. One is the portrait of a soldier. The other is a family photo. Seeing me staring attentively at them, he smiled, telling me those are photos of himself and his wife and the children.He stood up on his crutches beckoning me to come and have a closer look.
My eyes were wide-opend of astoundment. The portrait was of a young officer apparently with the rank of major quite handsome and reflecting heroism, his chest being completely decorated with medals . The family picture was a photo of himself, his beautiful wife, and their two adorable young children. My heart suddenly became languished
as if touched by an old wound. I swiftly turned back, stood to attention and raised my arm:
-“ Salute, my superior officer!”
He appeared astonished, then shook my hand. Later, I learned that this portrait was taken after he was promoted to major at the Battle of Quảng Trị, in October 1971. He was battalion deputy commander, replacing the lieutenant-colonel who was seriously wounded. He commanded the battalion to destroy the enemy encirclement making it an illustrious victory.
We became close friends since that day. It seemed there was something between us. We both seem to be on the same frequency. He used to live a quiet, private life and avoided meeting old friends.
Now, everytime I visited my daughter, I came to see him, bringing him some Nem Ninh Hòa (fermented minced meat) that he liked very much.
Passionately, he told me about his heroic time in the war. He sobbed sorrowly when recalling the seniors and the heroic comrades who sacrificed themselves in distress, frustrated at being victims of a gross injustice. This was especially true in the battle of Hạ Lào – Lam Sơn 719. The one person whom he mentioned many times, with much admiration and grieving, was the late Colonel Lê Huấn, a famous young battalion lieutenant colonel . , and a graduate from the VBĐL National Military Academy’s 18 th training class in Dalat . He had served under the colonel’s command for some time.
He asked me to follow him to his bedroom where he could show me a memorabilia. He turned on the light and I was really surprised to see a military uniform. Looking closely, I realized this was an old combat uniform, with worn-out marks, carefully laundered and hung in a small glass display cabinet He opened the armoire and carefully took out the uniform, grasping it tightly in a respectful way. His dreamy eyes seemed to be looking towards some distant past. He uttered with a deep sad voice He seemed to be talking to himself rather than to me, who’s standing right in front of him:
– This is his warfare uniform, Lê Huấn’s uniform.
After the illustrious victory at O’Relly Base, when his battalion under Lieutenant Colonel Lê Huấn’s talented command had defeated a regimental enemy force of the 304th Northern Division, in August 1970, the battalion fought one more violent battle against another regiment of this 304th Northern Division in Hải Lăng, Quảng Trị. He was the battalion’s commander with longest years of experience at the time.
More than one enemy’s regiment, after several stages of the terrifying pre-bombings, launched an attack at the same time to invade on the 4/1 battalion’s bivouacked positions. Lieutenant Colonel Lê Huấn left the command bunker, personally mobilized the unit to fight outrageously a life or death combat . One by one, the enemy troops were shot down right in front of the trench traffic, but they were like the mayflies launching themselves desperately into the fire. When one troop fell down, then another rushed in, so on and so forth.
Thanks to the stoical fighting of his unit, and especially under the talented and audacious command of the famous battalion major, he had prevented, weakened and held back the enemy before the plane combats could come in for assistance to attack the enemy in the air. Air attacks inflicted heavy losses on the enemy but some of the unit’s soldiers were also wounded, as the distance between us and the enemy was so close. He was one of those soldiers who got seriously wounded on that day.
It was dark and raining heavily. The air defense nets were dense, and evacuating wounded soldiers was impossible, Senior Lê Huấn ordered the medical board to bring him into Mr. Huấn’s combat bunker for relative safety and bandages for the immediate treatments. Seeing his rain- wetted combat uniform soaked with blood stains and dust , the battalion chief told the guard to take the clothes in his backpack to change him. When he was evacuated and admitted to the Military Hospital Nguyễn Tri Phương, several doctors were mistaken him as Lieutenant Colonel Lê Huấn, because the lieutenant colonel’s nameplate and stripe were intact on the uniform chest and collar.
With the unhealing wound, lying in the Military Hospital, his heart was very frenetic when he learned that his unit took part for the contribution in Lam Sơn 719 motion. A large-scale plan with the participation of the majority of combat units of Region I: 1st Infantry Division, Armored Units, Army Special Forces, along with the Airborne Brigades and Marine Corps. He yearned to be with the unit in this particular battle, but the injury at his right leg was the main obstacle to force him to stay here. He had been watching every day since the motion began. The unhappy bad news from the battlefield, the heavy losses of our troops after the 31st and 30th bases fell one after the other . Colonel Tho, the Airborne Brigade commander and many of our Leader boards were in the ennemy’s clutches. Some killed themselves to keep their sense of purpose and uprightness. Due to the regrettable fair motion plans that the enemy almost knew in advance to prepare the battlefield to the lack of agreement in the leader boards had contributed to the defeat.
The worst painful news caused him a tightenting in the heart was when he heard that his 4/1 Battalion took on a heavy responsibility for being a rear-blocking force so the Regiment can escape to allow the Regiment to give in from Lolo base in a critically besieged state. He bursted into tears when he heard that Lieutenant Colonel Le Huấn, the talented young battalion commander, had stately sacrified his life, and the whole battalion remained only 32 surviving soldiers returning! He thought, from now on, he will never see the commander whom he admired and looked forward to continuing to serve under his commandership. He was thinking the military uniform which belonged to the Lieutenant Colonel Lê Huấn, and the Lieutenant Colonel gave it to him to change in when he was seriously injured a few months ago. He did not have a chance to return it . Now there is no chance to return it to its owner. He decided to keep this uniform as a sacred memorabilia throughout his life. And then, no matter how many vicissitudes and hardships happened to him, then after the falling day of his country, then his family divided, he always respected the uniform in which he thought the divine spirit of Mr. Le Huấn and his comrades who had sacrified their lifes will always being remembered.
After being released from the hospital, he was called as backup to another regiment for deputy battalion function. In October 1971 he was promoted to be major at the front. At the end of the year he took control of the battalion to replace the battalion chief who was injured, then attended the military main course. Later, the old wound on the right leg recurred. After the treatment, he became cripple, limping in walking. The Board of Forensics Evaluator him caterizied his condition as a category 2 – unqualified to be in battlefield. He was recommended to be an auxiliary to The G3 of Corps {*} ,but he applied to be the subdivision deputy for the former battalion chief, who was then the sheriff of a county in the countryside .
The county seat is a strategic outpost, located in a critical local spot that controls the whole Vietnamese Communist Army’s / Viet Cong supply line, so they tried to get all processes to destroy it. At the end of 1974, the Viet Cong started several ways to attack with masses of their troops to take possession of the county seat, The sheriff got seriously injured. He had to coordinate with the comrad units to strengthen, commanding directly the very fierce counterattack to maintain the defense lines through many large-scale attacks of the enemy. . But our casualities were really severe and the munitions gradually running out, while the Viet Cong army was strengthened. Eventually he had to break out for their lives, fall back before the base was invaded by the enemy. He suffered a serious injury on the leg again, which is strange because it was happening over his same old wound. Thanks to his combatant experiences and the two very loyal and skilled force soldiers, who took turns to carry him out of the enemy’s siege and pursuit. He was reccommended for a special promotion to lieutenant colonel. Unfortunately however he had to have his right leg amputated. The pain of losing a part of his body has not been appeased yet, then the utmost news occured impetuously: March ‘75, the whole of Region I suddenly fell into the VC ‘s clutches, and the 1BB Division, the famous unit that he was always proud to serve in nearly a lifetime of military service was also destroyed. Then the whole South fell , captured by the invaders. His comrades who fought, lived and died with him suddenly broken up like after a worst nightmare .
Lost a leg, but he was still imprisoned in bleak situation for more than seven years in many barbarian Communist prisons. Released from prisons, he lost his whole family. His beautiful wife sent their eldest daughter, aged five, to the elderly grandmother’s care. Taking with her the three-year-old son, and remarried as somebody in secret. The infamous uniform — the one belonging of the commander who had sacrifed his life for the country, whom he had respected and loved– was the only fortune remained from his whole military life. When commiting for his prison time, he carefully told his mother to keep it safe the uniform for him at any cost; explaining it was the most precious remained memorabilia of his life. At his mother’s suggestion, he agreed that she could remove and burn the name badge and the rank from the uniform.
It’s probably been a long time since someone has sit and listened about his story attentively, therefore he narrated his life passionately. He was sobbing tentatively. Tears that may have dried up long ago, suddenly pouring bitterly on his old austere face, and one by one, drops fell on the uniform which he was holding tightly in his arms .
– Have you ever since had any chance to see your wife and son again? I asked.
– She has been remarried for a long time, and now living in Europe. I’m sad but don’t blame her. Being afraid to affect her own happiness, as well as my own misfortune, I don’t want to be in contact with her. My son visited me twice, but I am still a stranger to him. It is understandable. Because when I went to jail, he was only three, and there was nothing from me remained in his memory about my image. My daughter has visited her mother and brother a few times.
After finishing those words, he bent down as if he wanted to hide his emotions.
– Do you often feel lonely and regret the old days?
– Kind of, but I got used to it for a long time and don’t want to remember those old stories anymore
I held his hand tightly by way of comforting him, a consolation which was difficult to express. Suddenly he looked up, eyes wide open:
– The thing that makes me disheartened by is that some of our comrades forgot who they are. Even a few god-damned officers, who followed blindly the enemy for a little benefit, toadyied rudely. They forgot they used to be proud officers of the heroic corps . Just watching them with affected , pretentious manners in front of the communists made me feel disgusting!
I was smiling:
– Don’t pay attention to all those guys, it’s unavailing. In any community there are always venoms, despicable, selling their soul at cheap price. May be they are insane. Besides those are just a few individuals. For instance,the American traitor, Edward Snowden, who took refuge in Russia. In my opinion, the majority of our comrades are still wholehearted, keep fraternity and have responsibilities for their homeland!
Suddenly his eyes lit up:
– The most joyful and comforting thing for me was the fundraising organizations which helped the disabled veterans who live pitifully in our homeland. Especially the success of the Music Festivals in Gratitude for Soldiers. Seeing our comrades as well as our community were ready to participate in thoses activities enthusiastically, I was very happy and touched. I admire extremely the fathers of the Congregation of The Holy Redeemer Saigon, Vietnam , who were also really courageous, they had comforted wholeheartedly and helped our unfortunate disabled veterans to go through their dignity. I’ve given my daughter all my savings for her to send back to help with the fathers.
I laughed in agreement. Intended to say something more to show off my contributions, but instead heard him asking:
– My friend, you live in Europe, and have just been in America for a while, probably you have seen a lot of people scrambling for position and privileges amongst our comrades now. But poor guys, it is just forlorn fame! Many generals or colonels who had some reputation in the past, when they arrived here were engaged to be chiefs in classical dramas for some self-proclaimed governments like ancient popular theaters. Some recured this association, sponged on other organization.What ashamed! Among those, some were my majors during war time. It’s really disgusting! “A clean fast is better than a dirty breakfast” : we don’t have any chances to save this now!
I was smiling. I wasn’t able to say something to comfort him yet, seeing his face saddened:
– The saddest thing is that many of them abuses the uniform in such a ridiculous way. Even in weddings, birthdays, dancing parties, people also put on their uniforms. Once I saw a guy in uniform, with stripes and full of medals, being on a television program to advertise for some medicine brand for an Herbal expert who called himself doctor! I felt ashamed and really outrageous. And that evening, I held Senior Lê Huấn’s uniform to my heart and felt very harrowing.
Recalling a story about the uniform, happened in Norway, where my family reside, I told him:
– In November 2004, Ms Kristin Krohn Devold, The Norwegian Minister of Defense, visited belligerent Norwegian military units in Afghanistan, this army was a member NATO forces. She was acclaimed as a brave female minister who visited soldiers when the battlefield was at its most dreadfull period. But after, when news and photos about the visit were aired on Norway’s national broadcaster NRK, many Norwegian officers and soldiers complained and criticized when they saw her in military uniform stepping down from a helicopter to visit a Norwegian combat unit, and also when the Prime Minister of Afghanistan Hamid Kazai greeted her at the Kabul administrative center.
The press also contributed to the debate and turned out to be indignant for the event. Most assumed that she had never been in the army, so she was not allowed to use military uniforms, regardless of any function or circumstances. The members of the armed forces believed that the uniform was sacred, as many of the warriors wearing it and had sacrified their lives . Although she and some government organizations tried to justify it, that it’s for her safety in a special situation, but it was still not accepted. Finally, she had to formally apologize to the Norwegian Army and to the People for this event.
After I finished that story, he held the uniform up as if he wanted to comfirm something.
– You are right. To me, the uniform is always a sacred memory. So many of my deceased comrades were shrouded in their blood-soaked uniforms. Please don’t abuse it and break their hearts.
After this first meeting, I’ve come to see him a few more times. I told his daughter, “he’s a good man, a remained dignified officer, you should often visit and help him with his necessities”. When I came to say goodbye to him before my trip back to Norway, I brought him two bottles of good red wine. I suggested him to have a few glasses for relaxation instead of drinking too much hard liquour and smoke. They can cause bad health problems . He smiled, but turned emotional:
– You’re gone, and’ I’ll be alone again. I won’t have anybody to pour my heart out anymore.
That day, I stayed with him until after one am. Leaning on his cane to seeing me off at the door, he gripped my hand for goodbye but held it for a long time, didn’t want me to go. I smiled, murmuring:
– Don’t forget to try to sleep. Don’t wake up at midnight and drink alcohol then walking around with your cane. We can loose sleep, with you, downstairs, too.
He nodded, smiling in agreement.
Six months later, when I was back in America, I came to see him. I rang the bell few times, but it seemed nobody was home. I didn’t hear the wooden crutches hitting on the floor anymore. In the afternoon, his daughter being back home from work informed me that he was diagnosed as having terminal liver cancer. She took him to Fountain Valley Hospital last week. I drove immediately to the hospital. He was lying there, unconscious. When I touched him, he opened his eyes slightly, looked at me and tried to smile with his deformed face . He was smiling, but I wanted to cry. He looked so haggard and exhausted. But he was very serene, like he used to be when he confronted the enemy. He wanted to sit up, but he was too weak. I sat beside him, rubbing his chest, and told him to lie down.
– The doctor told me I don’t have much time. Tomorrow I have to be discharged for home so my family can organize funeral observances – He whispered in a weak voice.
Having to evoke this word “family”, he was smiling, with bitterness:
– Family …!
Understanding his reflections, I added, to make him feel better:
– We are a big family, apart your daughter, all of us are your famiy as well. Be at ease. Don’t forget to prepare an agreeable airstrip, and wait for me landing there too someday!
The following evening, he’s discharged for home via a hospital transportation. The daughter kept a watch over him. I’ve also always been by his side. He would like to have a cup glass of red wine with me. The daughter hesitated, but as I nodded, she poured two glasses, and handed one to me as she brought the other to her father’s mouth. Then we emptied our glasses. I would have never thought it was our farewell glass. Suddenly the lyrics of an oldie :
“Oh my dearest, let’s have a farewell toast, as tomorrow I’ll have been gone, … a long long way from home….”
Late that night he breathed his last breath. His daughter said he passed peacefully. He didn’t tell any wishes. He left only a small piece of paper with a few squiggles: “My daughter, please don’t forget to shroud me with the military uniform in the glass cabinet.”
The funeral was really simple, as he wished. He had repeatedly told his daughter with great insistance not to publish obituary or inform anyone. At the funeral home, other than his daughter and her American boyfriend, attendees were only my wife, our youngest daughter and me. An elderly monk recited liturgical chapters before the coffin was closed up. I was standing to attention, my hand up to salute him. He laid imposingly in his military uniform. His face was glistening with grandness. I felt like he just deceased from the battlefield. There wasn’t any funeral rites, but it seemed I was hearing some echo of a commemorative song by trumpet and the Necromancy song to call up the Soul of Fallen Soldiers.
I was standing to attention one more time in salutation, as the coffin was put into the crematorium. The dust returns to the earth as it was and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it. My heart suddenly bursted into joy, thinking that he was about to meet the late Senior Lê Huấn and his former comrades, the real soldiers who deserved honorably the imposing uniforms of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam ARVN . They created and enclosed in the military uniform something extremely sacred.
