Escape from Vietnam: For Some the Vietnam War Never Ended

By Howard Cohen

After the Vietnam war Nguyen Thi Lan rose from humble beginnings to become one of Vietnam's most influential women. Now Lan and her granddaughter are being hunted by the Peoples Public Security for pro-democracy activities. For in communist Vietnam, the most serious crime is advocating democracy. Those that do are considered enemies of the state. Imprisonment, torture, and execution await those unfortunate enough to be arrested.
In hiding, with no means of escape, she turns to her ex- American lover, James Britton, for help as repayment of an old debt. As he now travels to Vietnam he knows it was a debt, whose details were only known to Lan and himself, that must be repaid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543943351

Book preview

Chapter 1

Linville, North Carolina, 2018

Wounded were everywhere. On beds, gurneys, stretchers, on the floor and still, they brought more. A cacophony of groans, screams, prayers, and curses filled the room. Blood pumping from arteries, flowing slowly from veins, warm, sticky, puddling on the rough cement floor. More wounded arrived and were piled on top of the others. Stacked like cordwood. Blood ankle deep, seeping into his shoes like swamp sludge. In the background, the Rolling Stones sang about painting everything black. He threw up his hands and shouted STOP! No more! No more! No more!

James Britton sat up, drenched in sweat, swung his feet over the edge of the bed and walked rapidly away as if escaping the scene of a violent accident. He gasped for breath and fought against hyperventilation.

In the bathroom, he stripped off his sweat-soaked tee shirt and splashed cold water on his face. He had not had that nightmare in over fifty years. It had been a frequent nighttime visitor when he returned from Vietnam in 1968. In time the dream faded, and the memories were pounded into submission. Until yesterday afternoon when the letter had arrived. He had almost tossed it into the waste bin with the rest of the daily junk mail. At the last minute, he noticed the embossed return address from the law firm of Lewis, Yang, and Lee.

He showered, dressed in khaki shorts, black tee shirt, sneakers without socks and went into the kitchen. The letter was still on the kitchen table. James turned on the Keurig and made a cup of Newman Special Blend and carried the cup and the letter out to the patio. He sat at the glass top table, sipped the coffee and reread the letter;

Dear Dr. Britton,

I represent Madame Nguyen Thi Lan, a citizen of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. Madame Lan informed me that you are acquainted, having met during your tour in Vietnam in 1968.

I would like you to call my office at your earliest convenience to discuss a matter of importance.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely yours,

Roger Lee JD

When he first read the letter, he was shocked. Why after all these years was she contacting him?. She’s older, must be sixty-eight. Life was hard in Vietnam, and hers must have been very hard. The letter brought back memories and forced him to think about a past he had long tried to forget. It had been a long night of recollection, fitful sleep and nightmares.

James made another cup of coffee and reread the letter a third time.

When he first met Nguyen Thi Lan she was nineteen and worked in a brothel in the small Central Highland town of Ban Me Thuot. At first, she was just another working girl in the bar. Later as his life became more complicated, and he entered what he thought of as his dark time, Lan became an essential part of his life.

She had been there for him when he needed someone, had covered for him, kept his secret, loved him, and now after fifty years was reaching out to him. Memories, like a tsunami, washed over him and he could see her face as clearly as the day he left the Highlands for the Vietnamese delta.

After he left the Central Highlands, he had written her several times. Most letters were returned, some were not, but those were never answered. Eventually, he stopped writing. He watched the clouds meander over the horizon. At noon, he would call the lawyer.

James sat at the desk in his study, notepad, and pen ready to take notes. His heart beat faster as he dialed the lawyer’s number. It rang twice before a cheerful woman answered.

Good morning. Law Offices of Lewis, Yang, and Lee. How may I help you?

He was relieved he did not have to listen to a recorded message that gave him choices as to whether he was a referring lawyer, new client, client calling about an ongoing case, or dial the extension if known.

Good morning. I’m doctor James Britton calling about a letter I received from Mr. Lee.

Just a moment doctor.

The 1812 overture filled the short gap before Roger Lee came on the line.

Doctor Britton, thank you for calling so promptly.

I have to honest with you Mr. Lee…

Roger, please.

Roger. The letter was a shock. Especially the part about discussing something important.

Doctor Britton…

James or Jimmy.

James, Madame Lan called our office from Vietnam two weeks ago and asked if we would handle a case for her. I speak Vietnamese, so the case went to me. She instructed me to write the letter you received. She did not want me to call you, on that point she was adamant. She felt if you remembered you would call. If you did not call. I was not to send a follow-up letter or try to reach you. If you did call, I was to inform you that she would like you to visit her in Vietnam to discuss a matter of grave importance to both of you. She would not elaborate except to tell you that, Your offer is now accepted."

He contemplated the promise he had made. In his final letter to her he had written, If you ever need my help I will be there for you. The thought of returning to Vietnam reminded him of what he said when he landed at Travis Airforce Base in 1968 Nothing will ever get me to go back to that fucked up place.

James, you still there?

Yes, I was just lost in thought.

The next day she sent a round trip first class ticket on Japan airlines, a reservation for a suite at a hotel in Ban Me Thuot, and a black titanium American Express card with your name on it. The card has no preset limits. When you arrive in Ban Me Thuot and check into your hotel you’ll be contacted. I will send you the ticket by email and the card by overnight Federal Express.

Roger, can I call her? I’d like to get a little more detail.

I tried calling her to let her know the letter had been sent but the number was no longer in service. She had wired our retainer and would not provide an address. I thought that unusual, but I have had stranger client requests. Last night I received an email from an anonymous sender saying that Madame Lan could not be reached but the plan remains the same. That is where we are at present. I would ask if you have any questions however I have no answers. Will you be going?

My relationship with Madame Lan was…complicated. I am indebted to her for…well let’s just say things happened back then and leave it at that. I’ll think about it.

If there is anything else I can help you with do not hesitate to call me. I will include my personal cell phone number and email, so you can reach me directly if necessary. If I hear anything before you leave, if you decide to go, I’ll call you. Good luck James.

Thanks. James hung up the phone. Obviously, money was not the problem. She must be very wealthy if she could afford first class tickets and a black titanium card. He was troubled that Lee could not reach her and had received a mysterious email from a third party. James knew that the situation dictated caution. Most people given these circumstances would decline. Too many variables. Although he’d knew all the reasons he should not go, he felt honor-bound to repay the debt. And, since he retired, boredom had ruled his life. For the first time in years, he felt real excitement. There were things he had to do to get ready.

The open-ended ticket arrived by email the same day, and the card along with the hotel reservations and Vietnam tourist visa by FedEx the next day. He spent the next two days getting vaccinated and augmenting his warm weather wardrobe.

James Britton, a retired psychiatrist, widower, two months shy of his seventy-fifth birthday, sat in the Japan airlines lounge at JFK reading the Wall Street Journal. He soon would be returning to a place that had nearly destroyed him and driven him to extremes. Outside the sky was gray and threatening to snow. November held bad memories for him.

His father, Conner, had made sure of that on November 2, 1952.

Chapter 2

November 2, 1952

Conner Britton entered the Shamrock bar like a budding storm. Teddy Flynn the bartender and part owner whispered Oh shit to himself. Conner Britton was a bad drunk, a brawler and many bars in the west Bronx had restraining orders against him including the Shamrock. Conner rested his large forearms on the edge of the oak bar. How are we doing today Teddy me boy? You going to call the coppers to show me out or are you going give me a few fingers of Bushmills? Teddy Flynn was in his sixties, short, heavy set, bald with hooded eyes and a nose that spoke volumes about his time as a middleweight boxer. He poured three fingers of yellowish liquid into a glass and walked down to the end of the bar to refill another patron’s beer. There were a dozen patrons at tables and two at the other end of the bar, mostly men stopping off after work and a few students from the community college nearby.

Conner Britton was six feet two, lean and muscled from years of working with stone and brick. His large hands were covered with thick callouses and leathery skin. The glass disappeared in his hand and he swallowed the contents in one gulp. He scanned the room for a familiar face. Those that knew his reputation avoided eye contact. Conner waved his glass at the bartender and Flynn poured an inch of Bushmills. Conner shook the glass keep pouring Teddy me boy, keep pouring. Flynn filled the glass. Don’t want no trouble today Conner.

No need to worry Teddy, I’ll be good. He chuckled. Flynn walked away debating whether to call the police and enforce the restraining order. He decided against it. Conner could be the most charming man one minute and viciously aggressive the next. Jekyll and Hyde. The restraining order was six months old and resulted from a brawl Conner had gotten into with three football players from a local college. The damage ran to over two thousand dollars and the bar was closed for a week. Conner got away with a misdemeanor citation and had paid the damages.

On November 2, 1952, as he drank his third Bushmill he was thinking about his foreman. The bastard had complained that he wasn’t working fast enough. I know more about stone and brick than that prick will in a lifetime. One day I’m going to beat the shit out of him. Fuck him up.

When he left the bar and walked up the hill to 179th street he cursed the dam hilly west Bronx, the most northern borough of New York City. Two years ago he moved his wife, Mary, and his two sons James and Michael to a two bedroom apartment on the third floor of a six-story walkup. By the time he arrived home, his mood was foul. Mary knew it as soon as he walked in the door. Conner went to the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, then sat at the dinner table.

Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.

Just then Michael ran into the kitchen from the room he shared with James, slammed into the kitchen table knocking over Conner’s beer spilling it into his lap. Conner jumped away from the table, got his foot tangled in the chair and went over backward landing on his back and hitting his head on the floor.

Terrified Michael ran back into his room and told James what happened. They could hear their father shouting and cursing. James and Michael hid under their bed and waited for the storm to blow over.

Conner, his pants wet, his head sore, his rage released kicked the door to their room open. He saw movement under the bed and shouted, Come out you little shit. Michael whimpered, but he did not come out. Conner grabbed the side of the bed and lifted it, grabbed Michael by the arm and pulled him out. James tried to hold on to Michael but lost his grip. He watched as his father pulled Michael across the floor, yelled at him that he was a careless shit, and hit him with the side of his hand across his jaw spinning his head to the side. He dropped Michael and left the room.

James waited for his brother to move. When he didn’t James came out and crawled over to him. Michael didn’t move, and James noted he wasn’t breathing. He started to scream for his mother.

Mommy Michael’s dead, daddy killed Michael, daddy killed Michael! He grabbed Michael and hugged him. Wouldn’t let him go when his mother came in. Rocked back and forth sobbing. Michael had been his closest friend. They shared secrets. No matter how bad things were Michael always had a smile. When he laughed, you could not help but laugh with him.

The police arrived along with an ambulance. James would not release Michael. A doctor verified that Michael was dead, and they left James tightly embracing him. A brother he could not save, could not help, whose death he could not stop. Finally, exhaustion took over and he fell asleep. Mary separated his fingers from the stiffening body of his brother and carried him into her bed.

Conner was arrested at a neighborhood bar, convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to ten years. Seven months into his sentence he was killed in a fight in the prison yard.

The loudspeaker announced boarding of flight 2206 to Narita airport in Japan, the first leg of his trip. James slung his computer case over his shoulder, made sure he had his phone and walked to the gate just as they were calling first class passengers.

Chapter 3

Ban Me Thuot Vietnam, 2018

Lan’s house was built in the early 1950s for one of emperor Bo Dai’s ministers. It perched on a hillside overlooking the valley. At that time, the population of Ban Me Thuot was only twenty thousand. As the town grew into a city of three hundred thousand the suburbs extended to within a mile from the base of the hill.

The house was built entirely of teak and bamboo. It had four bedrooms, four baths, a kitchen, a large living room, den, formal dining room, and a floor to ceiling glass enclosed patio. During the war, it was used as a command post for a Vietnamese army general. When South Vietnam fell in 1975 it was occupied by a North Vietnamese Army general and later became his vacation home. Madam Lan’s late husband had purchased the house in 1997 and had it refurbished and modernized.

Nguyen Thi Lan walked onto the patio, her favorite room. There were panoramic views of the forest and waterfall in the valley below. She wore a white silk Ao Dai, her loose hair fell to her waist, a few small streaks of gray had been allowed to remain. Her skin was marred by few wrinkles. Lan, at seventy, was still a beautiful woman.

It had been four days since they had tapped her land phone line, and there was no cell service or internet reception. Agents of the Ministry of Public Security had taken her cars two days ago. Lan was sure the house was under surveillance.

She wondered if James had responded to the letter and if he had decided to come. Lan sat on a lounge chair and watched a deer run into a clearing, nibble some grass, and then spooked by something unseen runoff. James had written her several times after he left the central high lands in 1968. She had not answered any of them. It would have been pointless. In the nineties when the internet came to Vietnam she had found him and followed his life on social media. Lan had never considered getting in touch with him until the present difficulties.

A middle-aged man brought in a tray with a pot of tea which he placed on a small table at the side of her chair. He poured some tea into a china cup, added a few drops of cream and one square of sugar and stirred it gently.

Thank you, Chang He nodded and left.

Chang had been with her for over thirty -five years. He was the majordomo of her household and took care of her personal safety. Her late husband had Chang assigned as her bodyguard and over the years he had become her friend and confidant. He was short and wiry, soft-spoken, intelligent and deadly when required. His wife, Xuan, was the cook and his son, Hao, a former NVA ranger, was all that remained of her security detail.

Tomorrow she would have Xuan leave a note for Mr. Ba when she went food shopping. Ba would go to an internet café and send an email to the lawyer. She sipped her tea. If he does come, she thought, will he agree to help, and can he do what needs to be done. Most importantly, will he arrive in time.

Chapter 4

Japan Airlines Flight 8347, 2018

First class seats were individual compartments called JAL Suites. It consisted of a wide comfortable seat that opened to a bed, twenty-three inch TV, power outlets, and ample storage for his carry on. An attractive young stewardess offered him a glass of champagne. He’d never liked champagne and asked for a bloody Mary, which arrived promptly. James sat back, stirred the drink with its stalk of celery and took a long swallow. As the plane lifted off he finished his drink and closed his eyes.

He awoke two hours later as the stewardesses were serving dinner. The tray contained a Japanese salad of spinach, roasted maitake mushrooms tossed in wasabi and ponzu. Kobe beef, with broccoli rabe and rice for the main course. For dessert a Mont Blanc made of sweet pureed chestnuts and coffee. He ended the meal with a double amaretto. First class had its benefits.

When the stewardess removed the tray, he took out his digital reader and opened a sci-fi novel. James couldn’t concentrate on the book and he turned it off. Soon he would see Lan again and his thoughts drifted off to 1968.

Chapter 5

Lan, 1968

The brothel had, in its first incarnation, been a small twelve-room hotel for Vietnamese visiting Ban Me Thuot, and the surrounding area of the Central Highlands. When American troops were stationed in the area a Vietnamese businessman bought the hotel, installed a long bar, and imported young women to work as prostitutes. It was appropriately called the Hotel. Most rooms were doubles with large beds and thick mosquito nets that blurred the view of what was going on in the next bed. Fourteen girls worked at the hotel. None had been prostitutes prior to the war and most had sad stories of how they ended up working at the brothel. They were available for a short time or all-nighter.

When James first arrived in Ban Me Thuot he only went to the hotel for a short time.