Vietnam Redux: For Some The Vietnam War Never Ended

ISBN: 978-1-4835496-4-4

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Dedication

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Acknowledgement

Dedication

To the hope that someday the Montagnards of Vietnam will enjoy the freedom, equality and autonomy they deserve.

Introduction

The Degar people, called Montagnards People of the mountain(s) by the French have been in Vietnam for over two thousand years. They originally inhabited both the mountains and the costal plains of both north and South Vietnam. The Vietnamese at that time were located in the north along the Red River delta often called the Cradle of Vietnam. The area today includes the cities of Hanoi and Haiphong.

In 1471 the Vietnamese attacked and expanded into the territory of another ethnic group called the Cham. Over 120,000 Cham were killed and relentless pressure by the Vietnamese eventually pushed the Cham south into the costal plain inhabited by the Degar tribes. This movement by the Cham and the eventual migration south by the Vietnamese forced the Degar into the Mountains of the Central Highlands. The Vietnamese did not move into the Central Highland at that time. The Degars are an agrarian society composed of over forty tribes with numerous dialects. The European presence in Vietnam goes as far back as the late 16th century when Portuguese Jesuit missionaries from Macau brought their Christian God to the natives.

French involvement in Vietnam began in the 17th century with the arrival of the Jesuits: specifically a Jesuit missionary from France, Alexandre Rhodes. Rhodes wrote the first Vietnamese Catechism and was instrumental in publishing a Portuguese-Latin-Vietnamese dictionary that was used by later scholars to develop the written language still in use today. Evangelistic activities aside, French involvement in the day to day life of Vietnam during the 17th and 18th centuries was largely confined to commercial trade.

In 1858 major battles were fought when the French put a stop to the expulsion of the missionaries. Slowly the French presence in Vietnam grew. Territorial concessions were obtained and eventually were declared French territory. The French enlarged their sphere of influence and territory after successful wars with China and Thailand.

French Indochina was officially formed in 1887, consisting principally of the former countries of Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. The French became interested in the Central Highlands in 1876 and in 1899 established a military post at the village of Ban Don. It was not until 1918 that the French introduced Vietnamese into the Central Highlands. In 1946 the French placed the Central Highlands under the control of Bao Dai, the last emperor of Vietnam.

When the French Indochina War began most of the Montagnards sided with the French against the Viet Minh and forces of Ho Chi Minh. The antipathy between the Degar and Vietnamese was deep and unresolvable. The life of the Degar tribes could be compared to that of Blacks in the era of Jim Crow. Their desire was an autonomous state in the Central Highlands. First they placed their hope in the French. When the French were defeated at the battle of Dien Bien Phu and the country partitioned that hope was transferred to the Americans.

Montagnards joined in the fight against the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese army. Almost forty thousand Montagnards served along side American Special Forces.

When the communists took over and the two halves of Vietnam were unified the Montagnards faced difficult times. The Vietnamese regarded them as Moi or savages. They were deemed a danger to the internal security of Vietnam.

Many Montagnards are Christians. They have been persecuted, arrested, interrogated, beaten, tortured and systematically terrorized. Vietnamese were relocated to the Highlands and the traditional Degar lands confiscated. Prior to 1975 there were an estimated two million Montagnards living in the Central Highlands; today there are less then a million.

The Montagnard military organization, FULRO (Front for the Liberation of Oppressed Peoples), resisted Vietnamese incursions into the central highlands until the battle against a vastly superior force became futile. The last four hundred surrendered their weapons in 1992.

Hundreds of Montagnards escaped to Cambodia and refugee camps in Thailand. Many former Special Forces soldiers helped to resettle hundreds of Montagnards in North and South Carolina. In 2007 United States immigration policy changed and the camps in Thailand were closed and Montagnards were repatriated to Vietnam. Promises by the Vietnamese government of fair treatment for returnees never materialized.

Former Special Forces soldiers who served with the Montagnards in Vietnam never forgot their comrades. It is a sad story of how the United States coldly forgot a loyal ally and allowed them to suffer the slow genocide that followed and continues to the present.

Chapter 1

Hanoi Vietnam

May 21, 2015

The yellow color of the ministry building was dulled with age; its green shutters in need of repair. Air conditioners studded the outside like barnacles on the hull of an old freighter. It was a remnant of French colonial architecture and had long ago outlived its grandeur, as had so many buildings in the Ba Dinh district of Hanoi.

It held several foreign ministry offices, several provincial functionaries and in a small corner office on the third floor; the office of Environmental Adjustment.

Its main function was to adjust populations in certain areas of South Vietnam to make room for the increasing Vietnamese population and to solve one of Hanoi’s most vexing political problems.

It was a spartan office with one old gray metal desk with six drawers, three four-drawer filling cabinets and three wooden chairs. On one wall was a large photo of Ho Chi Minh and under it several pictures of the present leader and central committee.

Two of the walls were barren and the third held only a single black and white photo of a smiling young Vietnamese girl dressed in black fatigues holding an AK 47.

An air conditioner groaned and barely cooled the room. One window with an old yellowing window shade looked out on the courtyard.

Anyone visiting the office would conclude that it must belong to a lesser functionary in a minor department.

There was nothing on the desk except for a single file of considerable thickness and a lap top computer. The man who opened the file was in his late sixties, slender with thinning white hair. A scar, white with age, ran from his left ear along his jaw line curving to his lower lip. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt, an old brown leather belt, faded gray cotton pants, and brown socks along with well-worn brown shoes.

Facing him was a younger man in his thirties. He sat stiffly and his eyes never left the older man’s. He wore a tan linen suit, white shirt and his brown-stripped tie had a perfect Windsor knot. Brown, highly polished shoes with dark brown socks completed his outfit.

Tran van Throng turned the file so his young visitor could see the map. Throng had fought in the war of liberation. Seriously wounded he was decorated by Ho Chi Minh. After the war he had worked for the party and had risen to the executive committee. He could have had an office in the larger more opulent party offices but his work needed a more discrete venue.

This is the area, he said, tapping the map. This area must be adjusted.

Nugyen Thi Quan looked at the area of the Central Highlands Throng had identified. Having worked for Throng before he knew that the euphemism adjusted meant ethnic cleansing. Quan did what was required of him and made no moral judgments. He had a compartment in his mind where he filed his duties, closed the door on it when he was done and slept well at night.

That’s a lot of people . He said.

The Montagnards are Moi, savages, Throng almost shouted, the index finger of his left hand absent-mindedly traced the scar on his jaw.

I want a plan within the month. Make sure it includes a realistic time line.

He coughed and spit phlegm into a paper towel he removed from his pocket.

And remember that this is a discrete operation. Should this become known you would cease to exist along with your extended family. Are we clear? Another cough.

Yes, sir I am aware of the need for secrecy and both the rewards and penalties of the job.

Quan stood and without comment left the room. He had graduated from Hanoi University with honors and a degree in history and political science. After completing his master’s in international relations he went to work for the party. Throng became his mentor and brought him into the Environmental Adjustment Agency. It paid well and his family enjoyed the privileges of party membership. He put on his sunglasses and walked briskly into the Hanoi heat. Quan did not know why Throng hated the Montagnards. If Throng had his way they would be totally eradicated. Maybe this was the start.

Quan knew from his study of history that today’s meeting was the Vietnamese equivalent of the Wannsee meeting at which the Germans had planned the final solution.

Washington DC

June 2015

George Darnell stood looking through the floor to ceiling window of his Watergate office at the Washington traffic far below. He turned from the window and walked to his desk and pressed the intercom. Marilyn, call Senator Johnson’s office and verify my appointment time.

Yes, sir.

Slumping into his chair he shifted papers on his desk, then pushed them away and stood again walking over to look at a photo on the wall. Two walls were covered with photos of Darnell with a variety of politicians, athletes, former presidents and major corporate CEOs. On the third wall were pictures of his family and close friends. He looked at a color eight by ten in a dark ebony frame. Team SGT McGuire had snapped the picture just before he and SSGT Frank Stone left on three-day patrol.

There were three young Special Forces soldiers all wearing jungle fatigues and green berets. In the middle with his arms around 1LT Benny Friedman and SSGT Frank Stone was a smiling CPT George Darnell. They were all volunteers. No one ordered them to go to Vietnam and all three had served multiple tours. Maybe they kept coming back because of the camaraderie of team life, the adrenaline rush when they made contact with the enemy or most likely the desire to help end a long painful war.

He ran the finger of his right hand over the irregular scar that delineated the part of his right ear that still remained. Darnell would be meeting with Benny Friedman and Frank Stone in a few weeks and the memory of that patrol flashed back as if he had hit the rewind button his DVR.

Vietnam

February 1967

It was the second day of a patrol to check out a Viet Cong radio fix. (Viet Cong is a contraction of Viet Nam cong – san that means Vietnamese communist. The use of Viet Cong first appeared in English in 1957. American soldiers used the term Viet Cong, V-C, Victor Charlie or just Charlie). George Darnell, SSGT Frank Stone and thirty Yards (slang for Montagnards) had spent the night in the village of Drang Phok on the Dak Krong River 14 kilometers from the Ban Don Special Forces camp. It had been an arduous hike with many stream crossings, several waist deep. Rain and high humidity had taken their toll; they were exhausted when they reached the village in late afternoon. Drang Phok was a small village with only six long houses. Its sole claim to fame was a huge, old bull elephant with long tusks they used to work the forest.

Today they would head up into a more mountainous area to investigate the site where the radio intercept had been made. It had been four days since they had received the information and the VC were probably long gone.

The patrol left Drang Phok at 0800 walking through the rice fields toward the radio fix in the jungle six clicks (kilometers) north east of the village. They crossed the rice fields walking on the narrow dykes that separated the paddies and into the elephant grass so high you could barely see over it and so thick the ground was hidden.

After an hour, Darnell stepped on a rock that threw him off balance and pulled a groin muscle. From then on it was a painful hike. Finally, they left the tall grass and found a trail leading uphill. They climbed higher and steeper into the foothills of the Chu Ming Mountains scaling the side of one ridge on a narrow trail with a steep drop off.

All at once there was a flurry of activity at the front of the column. Everyone took a knee and safety’s clicked off. Weapons pointed forward waiting for word of what was going on and listening for shots. One of the Yards from the front came back and said m ou , m ou (lizard) and pointed to the large land lizard he proudly held up. Frank thought it was probably tonight’s dinner.

Everyone relaxed and safeties went back on. Another hour of hard climbing brought them exhausted, thirsty and hungry to the summit of the hill where the VC radio fix had been located. As expected the VC where gone.

Darnell called a halt and they all took a break. Some took the opportunity to eat; others sat in groups talking. A light, warm rain fell intermittently.

Frank Darnell said, I’m taking some men down to that stream we passed and fill canteens. While the men gathered up the canteens that needed filling Darnell put his rucksack and harness next to Franks, grabbed his rifle and with eight Yards headed downhill to the stream. He posted two men halfway down the trail in case someone tried to come up behind them. The stream at the bottom of the trail was slow moving and had stagnant pools. Darnell followed the stream around a bend to a spot about fifty Yards away where the water moved more swiftly. There is a myth that swift flowing water is safe to drink. It has less bacteria and particulate matter then stagnant water but is still not safe to drink without purification tablets The six men filled the dozen canteens they had carried down and enjoyed the break by splashing each other in a water fight. As they made their way back to the bend in the stream Darnell saw movement on the far side of the stream. Emerging from the jungle were dozens of VC. Floppy hats, black pajama like fatigues, brown belts, many wearing traditional black and white checkered neckerchiefs, rubber sandals made from old tires and carrying AK 47s.

Darnell grabbed the two Yards closest to him by the back of their shirts and pulled them down with him into the mud on the bank behind some tall grass. The other four dived for cover. VC churned up the stream as they crossed. Some passed as close as twenty feet from their position. They lay as rigid as rebar. Darnell breathed slowly; He could hardly hear his companions breathing at all. More and more Viet Cong filtered out of the jungle into the stream. At least eighty by his count and he probably missed a dozen more.

Darnell could warn the men on the hill by firing a shot but that would be suicide. The thought passed through his mind and never got any traction. He figured the two Yards he’d left behind as watchers on the trail would see them in plenty of time to warn the others. They didn’t have to wait long.

Two, almost simultaneous explosions followed by automatic fire from M 16s broke the silence and were joined by the much louder bursts of AK 47s. Automatic weapons fire became continuous.

Darnell rose slowly to a crouch and signaled the six Yards to follow him. They took off downstream. The water was cold and mid-calf depth. Underwater rocks made the going difficult; Darnell went down hard on a slippery rock and ripped a hole in his fatigues and tore a chunk of skin from his knee. Blood dripped into the clear, cold stream but he kept going without any apparent serious damage to his knee. His injured groin muscle yelled for him to stop moving. The firing continued and became more distant. Then it stopped. They did not.

After what seemed an eternity (but was really only twenty minutes) Darnell called a halt so they could catch their breath and reassess the situation. Two of the Yards spoke a Pidgin English the others only the local Rhade dialect.

Darnell and the Yards had left their rucksacks and harness on the hill when they went down to fill the canteens. Each of them had only one clip in their M16s and the maps were with Stone on the hill. He had no idea where they were. It was a stupid mistake to have left the rucksacks and harnesses when they came down to the stream. Stupid kills.

Several small side streams trickled in the direction He figured was west based on the position of the sun. If the streams really flowed west it made sense that if they followed one of the streams it would eventually lead us back to the Dak Krong River. Dense jungle lined both banks; they could make no headway through that stuff even they had machetes. In the distance Darnell thought he heard gunfire and they moved out fast. One of the Yard’s feet went out from under him and he landed on his ass, rolled until his back and head were in the water and couldn’t get up. He looked so funny we all started to laugh and for a moment our predicament was forgotten. They helped him up and moved out again with a new enthusiasm.

Finally, they came to a trail crossing the stream. He checked the mud; there were no footprints on either side. The trail headed in the same direction as the flow of the side streams they had crossed. Darnell took the point and had the men keep a twenty-foot interval. At first they moved slowly but as it became apparent that this trail had not been used in some time they kicked pace up a notch. It was getting late afternoon when they hit a wide cross trail. This one was well used; most likely the trail they had followed to the village on the first day. If it were the right trail the river would be close by. They crossed the trail and came to the river in less then half a click. The Yards were smiling. No longer lost. All they had to do was follow the trail back to camp.

Dusk was fast approaching and all were exhausted. Darnell found a clearing just a few feet off the trail. Well hidden with a good view of the trail in both directions. They had enough water but the only food was Darnell’s didi mau (go quickly) rice bag tied on his belt that had enough for one-small rice ball each which they wolfed down. Darnell’s stomach was growling, his cuts burned and the injured knee was the size of softball. He explained to the Yard who spoke some English that he wanted to set up an every three our watch. Darnell took the first shift.

At night the temperature dropped to around seventy degrees. Intermittently a brief light rain would fall. Mosquitoes buzzed around constantly and he would have numerous bites by morning. He worried about SGT Stone and the rest of the patrol. Did they make it out? Was Stone alive? When his three hours were up he woke the Yard and gave him his watch and pointed out which hour to wake the next man.

Somewhere between midnight and morning he stopped worrying about Stone and fell asleep. Darnell woke with a start, not sure where he was. His whole body ached. The Yards were sleeping, all of them. Darnell found the one who had his watch, shook him violently and roughly took the watch off his wrist.

Just as Darnell was ready to read him the riot act they were interrupted by a burst of gunfire from an AK47 followed closely by an M16. They hit the ground, flipped the safeties off, and faced the trail. The firing was coming very close and between bursts they could hear voices.

SGT Stone and five Yards came running down the trail. Stone’s fatigues were covered with blood and stained with sweat. Darnell was about to move towards the trail when the dirt on the trail was kicked up by AK fire. Darnell stood and yelled. Frank glanced from side to side but did not stop and they thundered past. Ten seconds later a fifteen VC came running after them. No wonder Frank hadn’t stopped to see where the voice came from!

When the VC passed Darnell hustled the Yards onto the trail and they moved rapidly down the trail. Gunfire exploded ahead of them. They slowed and moved more cautiously towards the source of the gunfire.

As they came around a bend in the trail they saw that Stone and his Yards were behind the bank of a deep stream. The water in the stream would be waist high if they crossed and the VC would catch them in the middle and cut them to pieces.

The VC fire was withering. Darnell moved the men quietly within twenty feet of the VC. Stone saw Darnell and his men and directed his fire so as not to hit them. Darnell indicated to the Yards which VC to fire at so they would not all try to kill the same one.

Darnell raised his rifle. The safety had been off for a while and the selector was on single shot. A quick look at the Yards and he nodded.

They opened up on full automatic. Darnell fired quickly and accurately, not paying attention to what occurred on either side of him. One, two, three, before they could turn around. The sound was deafening. Two of the VC in Darnell’s section were now turning toward him and he switched to full auto and sprayed the two. He saw Stone and his five Yards come over the top of bank and take down the three remaining VC.

A few of the VC were still alive. The Yards made short work of them. Neither Stone nor Darnell could have stopped them. One of the Yards that had been with me was dead and another was holding him in his arms and crying. They’d grown up together in the same village and were like brothers.

You look like shit Captain Stone said as he pointed to one of the Yards and signaled him to pile the bodies on the side of the trail.

What happened up on the hill?

Stone took a deep breath and gave his after action report.

The watchers spotted them coming and opened up on them. We had the advantage of the high ground and they had to struggle coming up that fuckin’ steep part near the top. We shredded them until they flanked us. We had no fuckin’ idea how many there were. It got bad very quickly. We moved out in good order covering as we went but they moved fast on the flank and split us in two. Shit I couldn’t help those poor bastards. There were too many of them. We moved as fast as we could and were hit again and we got separated. These five and me made it this far. Fuck. Have no idea if any others made it. It was a shit storm. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Darnell told Stone he’d seen the VC pass by and he hadn’t fired a warning