Black Silk Pajamas: The Autobiography of the Former "First Lady" of South Vietnam

By Danny Lane

Black Silk Pajamas is the unique, true love story of Mia Thi Nguyen, former First Lady of South Vietnam and her husband Prime Minister Loc Van Nguyen. She grew from a poor village girl to a freedom fighter and secret agent in her war torn country.

Black Silk Pajamas recounts Mais undying faith in a premonition of becoming the wife of her God-chosen husband, Prime Minister Loc Van Nguyen and tells of the pain and suffering Mai endured for her love of family, country, and freedom.

Ms. Nguyens story begins with her as a young lady, trained in the art of espionage. Her story chronicles her first deadly experiences as a courier of top-secret documents, her imprisonment in Viet Cong concentration camps, and her subsequent escapes.

Living much of her adult life in Vietnam with a price on her head, Mai eventually, through her faith in destiny, arranged to meet the Prime Minister. Although married, he instantly fell in love with Mai, and several years later divorced his wife and married her.

This story tells of harrowing accounts of her many attempts to flee South Vietnam with Prime Minister Nguyen and their newborn infant daughter, failing more than fifteen times.

Finally, after several years they succeeded, but became separated from each other. They were part of the boat people and joined more than a million other Vietnamese refugees to flee the now communist ruled country. They floated for weeks in the South China Sea praying for rescue, political asylum and a better life in America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 2, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462828906

Danny Lane

Danny Lane is a veteran writer of more than 20 motion picture screenplays, television sitcoms, training manuals and book manuscripts. He is a United States Marine Vietnam War Veteran. He served with the 3rd Battalion 5th Marine Regiment as a “grunt” combat soldier in 1968 and 1969 and was highly decorated for his bravery and wounds during his many combat missions. Danny is a retired Police Officer and now works as a Criminal Investigator, Bodyguard and Corporate Security Specialist. He also holds a 7th Degree Black Belt in Martial Arts and has been personally trained by entertainment star Chuck Norris. He has been inducted into the World, International, National, and U.S. Martial Arts Halls of Fame for his 32 years of competitive and instructional excellence. He is an actor, stuntman and writer and is a member of the Screen Actors Guild of America. The Former First Lady of South Vietnam, Mai Nguyen Loc, choose him to depict her incredible life story “Black Silk Pajamas” because of his distinguished military service in Vietnam.

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Copyright © 2000 by Danny Lane.

ISBN #: Softcover 0-7388-2360-0

eBook 1536

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Contents

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

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I dedicate this book is dedicated to my loving husband, Prime Minister Loc Van Nguyen, my family still captive in Vietnam and all the United States and South Vietnamese soldiers who gave their lives fighting for truth, justice and freedom in our country. You are forever loved and will never be forgotten.

Mai Nguyen Loc

First Lady of South Vietnam

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I dedicate this book to all the American soldiers who lost their lives in Vietnam and the tens of thousands of veterans who sadly took their lives after their return. I dedicate my work to Mai and all of the veterans that still fight the afteraffects of war everyday of our lives. To us the war has not ended and will never be over. God Bless,

Danny Lane

U.S. Marine 3/5 Vietnam 1968-69

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PREFACE

Mia Thi Nguyen is an exceptional lady, strong, courageous, a do whatever it takes woman that sees no barriers to large to conquer.

It is said that fate sometimes brings two people together for a specific purpose and that their lives will be changed forever as a result of that meeting. Mai and I, like two ships passing in the night, crossed paths once before in a small seedy bar in the suburbs of Da Nang, South Vietnam in 1969 and even though we didn’t speak or even formally meet our lives and I suppose our souls bonded there without us recognizing it.

Mai was managing a night club called the Select and I was a young Marine Grunt on a 2 day in country R&R (rest and relaxation). Unknowing to me she was a Intelligence Agent for the French Government using the nightclub as a cover. There she could meet the upper echelon officers and politicians and in her own sexy way extract information out of their usually inebriated bodies and boasting mouths.

I was at the same time assigned to 3rd Battalion 5th Marines based out of An Hoa, a little village south of Da Nang about thirty miles. An Hoa was nicknamed Rocket City because of the NVA barrage on the base with 140mm and 122mm rockets almost daily with pinpoint accuracy.

But as fate would have it, thirty years later in a small strip mall outside of West Palm Beach, Florida Mai and I crossed paths again, this time to discuss me writing her story. She had contacted many writers and publishers about her story and I was the only one that flew to Florida to meet her in person. She said that impressed her and showed my dedication and interest in her story. She also said her decision was secured when she looked into my eyes and saw sincerity and trust.

Within minutes after meeting Mai and discussing the possibility of me writing her book I could sense an extraordinary human being with a strong commitment to fight for what she believed in and what she stood for. I immediately felt great admiration for her and agreed to write her story without question.

I believe everyone that reads this book will feel blessed that his or her life is not so bad after all. I also believe every soldier that survived that war and that has died a little day-by-day like me will finally feel a sense of pride and discharge of the atrocities we still deal with.

Writing Black Silk Pajamas was therapy for me. Fighting PTSD and all the symptoms that are diagnosed with it for thirty years I finally realized after writing Mai’s story that I didn’t go through anything proportional to what Mai and the people that lived in that war torn country did everyday of their lives.

I finally quit feeling sorry for myself and let the demons go that haunted my mind all these years. It was war. We were allowed and expected to do things unacceptable to the rules of human behavior.

I think you will fall in love with Mai and admire and draw from her strength and courage. I did.

Enjoy,

Danny Lane

The Man in the Arena"

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy course; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

(Paris Sorbonne, 1910)

INTRODUCTION

Black Silk Pajamas is the inspiring, true-life story of Mia Thi Nguyen, a strong, highly disciplined, brave heroine with incredible inner strength, courage, faith and love. She has the fervor to overcome impossible odds and the gallantry to fight and the ardor to sacrifice for her beliefs. Freedom!

Mai grew from a poor village girl outside of Saigon to a freedom fighter, secret agent, humanitarian on to becoming the First Lady of her war torn country, South Vietnam.

Black Silk Pajamas recounts Mai’s undying faith and her premonition of becoming the wife of her God-chosen husband, Prime Minister Loc Van Nguyen and tells of the pain and suffering Mai endured for her love of family, country, and freedom.

Mai, as a child, was trained in the art of survival by her father and as a young lady trained in the art of espionage by the French. Her chronicles tell of her first deadly experiences as a courier of top-secret documents, her imprisonment in Viet Cong concentration camps, and her subsequent escapes.

But when the North Vietnamese Communists overrun their country in 1975 they imprisoned Mai and the Prime Minister. After many years of inhuman captivity and torture in a jungle prison camp, Mai escaped into the dark jungle night during a deadly shootout. Hiding from the communists for several years in small villages outside of Saigon, she continued to fight underground for the safety of her people and for the release of her love.

When Prime Minister Loc Van Nguyen was finally released from a Hanoi prison after eight long years of confinement and nearing death, it was then that they planned their escape together from the country they had loved, lived and fought for their entire lives.

After sixteen futile attempts of trying to escape the now communist controlled country, they finally made it but at separate times. They were separated again for several more years when Mai and her daughter after their escape were held in a refugee camp in Indonesia before finally being reunited in the United States of America.

Black Silk Pajamas begins with Mai’s daring escape with her infant daughter floating on a make shift bamboo raft down a dark, animal infested, jungle waterway silently past communist patrol boats into the South China Sea on the way to a secret rendezvous with a fishing boat.

The subsequent twenty-day journey that followed almost turned tragic as they drifted helplessly in the South China Sea praying to be rescued.

Battling the perils of the sea, Mother Nature, lack of water and food, the tropic heat, pirates and the communists Mai recounts her life in this inspiring emotional biography of a lady who continues to fight for human rights in her former country and diplomatically continues to pursue asylum for her family still trapped there.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

Danny Lane is a veteran writer of more than 20 motion picture screenplays, television sitcoms, training manuals and book manuscripts. He is a United States Marine Vietnam War Veteran. He served with the 3rd Battalion 5th Marine Regiment as a grunt combat soldier in 1968 and 1969 and was highly decorated for his bravery and wounds received in combat action.

Danny is a retired Police Officer and now works as a Criminal Investigator, Bodyguard and Corporate Security Specialist.

He is also a 7th Degree Black Belt in Martial Arts and has been personally trained by entertainment star Chuck Norris. He is an inductee into the World, International, National, and U.S. Martial Arts Halls of Fame.

He is an actor, stuntman and writer and is a member of the Screen Actors Guild of America. The Former First Lady of South Vietnam, Mai Nguyen Loc, choose him to depict her incredible life story Black Silk Pajamas because of his distinguished military record and his personal knowledge of the events of this historic timepiece.

CHAPTER ONE

Escape

Hello, my name is Mai, and this is my story. I know, everyone’s got a story, but mine I think you will find is quite different than most. Mai, translated in Vietnamese means Flower of the New Year. A beautiful translation and I am sure meant to be very petit, beautiful and fragile. But since the day I was born my father instead of treating me like daddy’s little girl" taught me the attitude and mindset of a warrior. The art of survival and the reality of death was always the focus of our time together. He had known what I had to learn the hard way that life especially in a war torn country like Vietnam was going to be hell in itself. Growing up under the influence of the Catholic Church I had always heard that God doesn’t put any more weight on your shoulders than you can handle. Well, after evaluating my life up to this point I have come to the conclusion that he must think I have very strong shoulders because there has been a tremendous amount of weight put on them during my lifetime.

You see right now at this point in my story I am attempting to escape communist Vietnam for the sixteenth time. That’s right sixteen times. The past 8 years I have been held captive here since the North overrun the South and took my country over. My husband was Prime Minister Nguyen Van Loc and I was his wife, the First Lady. We have had a price on our head from the time the North Communists invaded Saigon that sad day in 1975.

Tonight is a hot summer night in 1983 just past mid-night as we silently pedaled a wooden raft through the waist deep snake infested jungle stream in hopes of a rendezvous with an escape boat organized by Madame Dy. The pitch-black jungle night and the eerie sounds were bloodcurdling as I held a death grip onto my one-year-old daughter Bao Chau on the half sinking bamboo raft. Bao Chau had fallen into the water and almost drowned when our small wooden boat capsized on one of our previous attempts to escape. As Bao Chau cries penetrated and echoed through the jungles hush all the other people pedaling the raft muttered de-mandingly under their breath for me to stop Bao Chau’s crying or abandon the escape. An older lady quickly stuck a pacifier in Bao Chau’s mouth, but Bao Chau spit it out, and continued to cry even louder.

Suddenly gunfire broke the jungles dominance sounds and in the distance, shouting and screaming broke through the pitch-black night. Streaming flares lit up the jungle night as some of the other escape boats in front of us had been captured by the communist patrols. I held Bao Chau closely to my lips and begged her to stop crying as one more sound could cost all of us our lives and capture. I then pulled open my swamp soaked shirt and let her nurse on my now almost dried up breasts. I had stopped nursing her several months earlier but thank God her instincts to suck the breast were still natural. This contented her for a while and she eventually fell asleep in my arms.

I had to make my escape successful this time. I was now out of money and my husband, Prime Minister Nguyen Van Loc, had escaped the same way a year earlier. The communists have been looking for me to arrest again to create pressure on him to return to Vietnam. They wanted to keep him from spreading his political views among the 3rd world countries.

After I gave birth to Boa Chau I had been in hiding with friends living in small villages outside of Saigon for the past year waiting for this moment.

After the fall of Saigon in 1975, hundreds of thousands of my people have attempted to flee the now communist controlled country. Escape missions like this were secretly organized by people like Madamn Dy who took gold in exchange to pay fishermen for the use of their boats and their services. Madamn Dy had been rumored to be a communist and had sometimes been known to pay off the communists to turn their head and let certain escape groups pass by without incident. I prayed this was one of the times. Even if our escape boat was lucky enough to make it through the murky waters of the communist patrolled waterway we still had to face drowning in the unforgiving South China Sea, face inhuman Thai sea pirates, become victim to the vicious storms or face death from food and water shortages or die of heat stroke from the tropical sun like so many of the other refugees that died searching for freedom. It is said that even though hundred of thousands of refugees made it out of Vietnam safely just as many fell prey to the vengeance of the sea, mother nature, the communists or the Thai pirates.

As we hid for what seemed to be hours behind the thick jungle foliage hanging onto the bamboo raft in the cold slimy water, Boa Chau thank God did not cry anymore. The communists finally left the area after their attack and capture of the other escape boats.

We silently paddled on downstream under the camouflage of darkness and the ambience of the jungles orchestra looking for the signal from the pick up boat Madame Dy had arranged to meet us. After several hours of paddling and nearing daybreak we finally saw a signal light breaking the night from a larger vessel in the distance.

We anxiously but cautiously paddled towards the large wooden fishing boat. Once alongside we looked up to see total strangers, but with the same common goal, freedom. After we boarded the children and women were told to lie down and shut up and we headed out to the bay towards international waters, communist patrols and the perils of the South China Sea.

With Bao Chau in my arms, I was seated first beside the motor. The smell of the fuel and the loud noise from the engine made her cry, so I went up to where the fisherman was steering and took a seat.

Before long, we made it into the South China Sea only passing a few communists boats. They mysteriously let us pass without incident, as they appeared to be content fishing. I guess my suspicions about Madame Dy were true.

Once out to sea and out of danger from arrest we anxiously but apprehensively awaited our long awaited faith. Several of the boat people screamed in happiness that God had answered their prayers! I had visions of the baby and me being united with my husband Prime Minister Loc in America.

As we drifted seamlessly through the dark night, the sound of waves crashed against the leaky walls of the wooden boat. All the mothers and children huddled close to each other like newborn puppies next to their mother and even though uncomfortably limited in space the toddlers eventually cried themselves to sleep.

In the morning that followed, the light blue of the seawater started to shift darker as we traveled further out, but I could still see the coastline of our motherland, Vietnam.

Vietnam was my country, the place I was born 41 years ago. The place I had lived my entire life up to this point. The place hundreds of thousands of my countrymen, including Hai gave their lives fighting the communists. The place nearly 60,000 American lives were lost in combat fighting for our right to stay free. The place my mother, father, sisters and brothers were still being held, but also the place the North Vietnamese Communist now controlled.

Looking at it for a last time I transferred the final image of my country into memory, bid a silent farewell and layback down with my daughter, Boa Chau to reserve my strength.

As I starred upward at a clear blue sky with the sun slightly breaking through the morning canopy I focused in on an older man sitting across from me against the wall of the boat starring into nowhere. He had an old .38 snub nose caliber revolver clutched in his wrinkled and weathered hand. I am not sure if it is for protection or for his own self-destruction if we do not reach our destination. It reminded me of the weapon I had once carried as an Intelligence Agent for the French government during the height of the war.

CHAPTER TWO

Woman Warrior

My first secret mission involved delivering a secret letter from Saigon to a contact in Vung Tau. I was then supposed to escort the contact, an old man who was half Vietnamese and half French, back to Saigon.

I dressed modestly for my first mission wearing a white blouse and black silk pants with my long hair tied in a bun and a white handkerchief around my neck. Before leaving the house, I went upstairs to the bedroom and opened the iron safe that was hidden beneath a wooden table. My fingers tingled with excitement as I turned the combination lock. Opening the safe, I reached inside and took out a Smith and Wesson snub-nosed .38 caliber revolver that had been issued to me by the French Intelligence Agency and then grabbed a handful of bullets. Exhilaration and fear at the same time frenzied through my mind not knowing what the night ahead held in store for me.

It was quarter past six, already dark, a typical warm humid evening in Saigon. It was September 1972, and the Vietnam War was raging. I climbed into my American made Ford Galaxy 500, put my loaded pistol under the seat, then reached over and put the secret letter into the glove box. I then prayed the mission would be safely accomplished.

The Saigon city streets were bright and busy as I drove down the highway towards the only road that led to Vung Tau, a lovely city on a hill overlooking the South China Sea. Reports had verified the Viet Cong were very active between Saigon and Vung Tau and had recently kidnapped the passengers of several cars and marched them into the forest never to be seen again.

It was also common knowledge that the VC on occasion placed explosive land mines on that road at night to discourage any troop movements. I thought it would have been easier and safer for me to telephone my contact, but that risked having the call monitored and intercepted by the VC and besides I wanted to prove myself to myself and to the Agency.

As my dark green Galaxy hummed through Saigon’s city limits into the dark desolate night I noticed I had a death grip on the steering wheel with both hands and my palms were sweaty. My mind battled with expectation and trepidation as I contemplated the numerous strategies in my mind in case I encountered the enemy.

On the side of the road ahead in my bright lights I saw a little fruit market. Despite being engaged in a secret mission, my sweet tooth some how dominated all the other emotions I was now experiencing. I pulled the old car over, pushed the button to lower the window, and asked the old prune faced woman for a kilo of lon-gans. Longons are a small round fruit that is extra sugary. Once in hand, I slowly chewed the sweet fruit I had loved since I was a child. I for some reason and I don’t know why took the time to enjoy one of life’s simple pleasures in this time of war. I paid the old lady and sped away on my assignment.

Although technically a highway, the dark road was very narrow and did not have a yellow line in the center. I had to slow down and steer toward the shoulder every time I saw an oncoming car.

A premonition suddenly came over me as my chest began to tighten and my breathing became restricted. I somehow just knew something terrible was going to happen that night. I tried to calm down and relax by eating the fruit and sipping bottled water but to no avail. I then spoke silently to my guardian, Madame Buddha (Quan Am), «Mother, please help me. Protect me.» I begged her.

An hour later, at the point where the highway turns south, I pulled over at a Shell gas station in the town of Bien Hoa. The attendant approached my car, and asked if I wanted it filled up. I could tell by his accent that he was from North Vietnam. Certainly, he could have been a spy for the Viet Cong. Anyone could have been. But I wasn’t as concerned about this guy as I was more interested in the military jeep at the pump ahead of me. Four South Vietnamese soldiers, dressed in Army green, were filling five-gallon cans. The Sergeant was very stocky and friendly.

He looked at me and said, «Where do you think you’re going in that fancy American car?»

«Vung Tau,» I said, but not too loudly.

«We just came from there,» the Sergeant said.

«If you were going our direction, we’d escort you.»

«Thanks for the thought,» I said.

«Aren’t you afraid,» the Sergeant asked, «of driving that fancy car into an area crawling with communists?»

«Why should I be afraid,» I asked him and smiled, «it’s a free country, isn’t it?»

He laughed as I paid the gas station attendant and continued on my way at times wishing I had his military escort as the feeling of danger occupied me again.

As the car lights sliced through large rubber plantations and trees lined both sides of the road I knew there could be Viet Cong anywhere. I had a sudden urge to turn around and go back to Saigon but knew I couldn’t. To finally ease my anxiety I played an eight-track cassette tape of Vietnam patriotic songs to remind me of my heritage and my patriotic duty to rid my country of the communists.

I checked my watch. «Shit, it was nearly eight o’clock». I was running late, so I pushed down on the gas pedal testing the old cars engine. The old car not letting me down was now pushing near 80 miles per hour. I tricked my mind into thinking that if I did hit a land mine I might get lucky and fly over it going at this speed. I loved feeling the power and speed of the Galaxy as the wind blew through my long hair. Soon I was within fifteen kilometers of the village where I grew up, Ba Ria. I thought about my mother and father, and hoped they were safe in the family house.

The loving memories of my family quickly dissipated from my mind as a dark silhouette blocked the road ahead of me. Quickly pressing the brakes to the floor of my Galaxy and coming to a screeching halt I noticed the figure had a flashlight in one hand and a gun in his other hand pointed towards my car. My peripheral vision picked up on two other men with AK-47 Communist assault rifles approaching rapidly from the woods.

All the emotions I experienced and all the rehearsals of my defensive strategies flickered throughout my mind in an instance. I knew I had to remain calm and think clearly as