Cambodia-Trail Of Tears

By James Joseph Jacks

Life inside two secret companies funded by the United States to do their bidding in hot war zones such as Cambodia during the Cold War. This shows a close-up view of the suffering they played a part in while supporting what history has clearly shown to be the misguided foreign policies of the United States in Cambodia. An accurate recreation of events as the author saw them. To maintain anonymity in some instances names and the name of places have been changed. The portrayals of certain individuals whose names and other details have been changed are solely based on the author's opinions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Positive Imaging, LLC
• Release date: Jul 2, 2019

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Cambodia–Trail of Tears

A Book Length Excerpt From

Beneath The Shroud

By

James Joseph Jacks

Published By

Positive Imaging, LLC

[e-mail]

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright 2019 James Joseph Jacks.

Contents

Beneath The Shroud

Cambodia-Trail of Tears

Beneath The Shroud

James Joseph Jacks is a retired pilot. From 1968 through 1975 he flew in The Democratic Republic of the Cong and Cambodia. The highly specialized type of flying he did in both countries is referred to as paramilitary. While in the Congo he flew in the Congolese Air Force. While in Cambodia he flew in companies that used aircraft painted in airline colors, but their primary missions were an attempt by the US government to defeat the Khmer Rouge blockade of Phnom Penh.

While in the Congo, in addition to his regular missions, he assumed the role of primary pilot of President Joseph Désiré Mobutu’s state aircraft (a gift from President John F. Kenedy). This experience became an asset as he later was in a special division of Saudi Arabian Airlines created to fly the King’s family and top-ranking Saudi diplomats and VIP foreign dignitaries. Still later the VIP flying again proved useful as he flew top-of-the-line corporate jets for an extremely wealthy family. As in Saudia, these flight missions were on a worldwide scope.

The paramilitary flying showed James (Jimmy) the ugly side of war and the horrible effects it leaves on the population. All this while the leaders in this cold-war political chess games being played out on the global stage by the superpower leaders, Russia, China, and the United States lived a life of comfort and luxury. The poor Cambodian population was the valueless little brown pawn. In Jimmy’s words, he was a naive country bumpkin significantly unprepared for the unbelievable carnage the Cambodians suffered at the hands the superpowers.

Upon retirement in 2007, Jimmy and his Cambodian wife of 45 years returned to Cambodia for the first time since the Khmer Rouge marched into Phnom Penh on April 17, 1975. He now lives full time in Cambodia only returning to the U.S. for vacations.

Beneath The Shroud by James Joseph Jacks is now available in paperback and hardcover at:

http://beneaththeshroud.billspositivebooks.com

Cambodia–Trail of Tears

Bangkok

From the airport, I went straight to the Nana Hotel where I was instructed to stay. When I presented my passport at the front desk, the beautiful young lady handling my check-in process took my passport and went into an adjoining office. She returned with a man who introduced himself as the manager. He said he would have a special car and driver waiting for me the first thing in the morning that would take me to my destination. He assured me Mr. Ford had already given the driver thorough instructions and I need not worry about anything. He told me he would have a wakeup call for 7:00 am in case I was not already up. The bellman took my bags and showed me to my room.

It was still early afternoon and far too soon for me to try to sleep even though my body was now twelve hours ahead of Hamilton Texas time.

The Nana Coffee Shop–A Wide Menu

I took a shower and went down to the hotel coffee shop for a bite to eat. To my amazement it was filled with Americans. After my Wigmo time these guys were easy to spot. They were mostly U.S. Air Force types on assignments requiring civilian clothes (civies) or they were stationed at small clandestine bases deep in the rural areas of northern and eastern Thailand bordering on Laos and extremely close to China. But regardless of where they were stationed, they wore civilian clothes. The military personnel generally fit a mostly squeaky-clean mold with distinguishing military haircuts. There was another group of older, less squeaky guys with haircuts ranging from shaved to shoulder-length. They were the Continental Air Service and Air America group, and mostly based in Laos.

The immediate impression upon entering the coffee shop was the disproportionate number of suggestively clad, mostly young, heavily painted and unaccompanied women. I’d come down to get something to eat and quickly found the coffee shop was offering more than meals. Roger Ford had neglected to mention this.

I ordered a burger and a Coke and tried to eat, but most of my time was spent saying no thank you. The food wasn’t half bad…something the Congo had a hard time saying. The Thais had quickly learned to master middle-class American food preferences and were well tapped into the vast sums of money this sizable force of clandestine visitors had to spend. I finished my meal and headed back upstairs. In spite of my excitement, I managed somehow to get to sleep.

A Rainy Drive–A Shadowy Visa

The next morning, I enjoyed a first-class American style breakfast and was waiting for the driver in the lobby as instructed. At the stroke of 9:00 am the bellman came and advised my car and driver were waiting outside. As I walked out, I saw a late model Toyota with dark tented windows in front. The driver got out and introduced himself. His name was Kim. I would use Kim many times over the next several years. Kim spoke good English albeit with a heavy accent. Almost immediately after we pulled away from the Nana, it began to rain. As we drove through the city, I could see standing water everywhere. Kim explained that this was normal during the rainy season and that we were now in the final weeks of it. I did not directly ask Kim where we were going. I only asked if we were going to get my visa to which he replied yes.

After about thirty minutes’ drive in Bangkok’s impossible traffic exacerbated by the falling rain, we arrived at a nondescript building. There was a typical drainage ditch running parallel to the street which I had to cross via a makeshift and wobbly wooden bridge. Actually bridge was flattery. At any rate, Kim and I made it across. Kim knocked on the door. An Asian man dressed in Chinese style pajamas answered. Kim spoke to him in Chinese and the man took my passport. He instructed us to wait. One thing I was sure of…this was not the visa section of the Cambodian Embassy. We sat on an unpainted wooden bench under the shelter of the porch. In a few minutes the man returned with my passport. He showed me the visa and advised there was a $20 fee. I checked and there was a very official looking visa. I’d already been told the company was paying for the visa, so I was sure this was just another of the countless forms of corruption one has to deal with in this line of work. I handed the man a twenty dollar note. Then Kim drove me on to the ticket office of Air Vietnam where I presented the confirmation number I’d previously received. A few minutes later I was handed my ticket. My departure for the forty-five-minute flight from Bangkok to Phnom Penh left at 10:30 am the following morning.

Kim graciously told me he had been engaged by my employer for the entire day and said he would be happy to show me some of the famous tourist attractions in the city. I accepted his offer and spent the remainder of the day in some kind of wide-eyed trance. This was the most exotic city I’d ever seen. Paris was exciting in a sophisticated European way, but Bangkok was the perfect mix of exotic and mysterious.

First, I toured the royal palace; then the floating market. After that we went to Old Town. Kim cautioned me about eating from the little shops along the street selling all kinds of food but to no avail. I loved Thai food at first sight and sniff. Wigmo’s training courses had taught to learn to live off the land as soon as we arrived. Start building the local bacteria colonies in your stomach while you are still close to the best medical care that will be available to you. Then when you find yourself where eating choices are less than desirable you won’t have trouble finding things you can tolerate. In the Congo this was a bit of a chore…here it was a gastronomic pleasure. I faithfully and enthusiastically followed Wigmo’s advice. Yum! Kim dropped me off at the hotel around 7:30pm. I happily gave Kim a generous tip, told him I’d see him at 6:45 in the morning, and headed to the hotel bar for a drink before going up to my room.

While I was exploring Bangkok, President Nixon was re-elected and more U.S. troops departed Vietnam as part of our troop withdrawal. I did not vote. On the radio, Nights In White Satin by The Moody Blues, I Can See Clearly Now by Johnny Nash, and Ben by Michael Jackson were playing, for our troops on American Forces Radio Saigon.

The Nana Hotel Bar–Another Planet

Nothing I’d previously experienced prepared me for the bar in the Nana Hotel…nothing. Heavily painted and revealingly clad young as well as not quite so young women were standing and sitting everywhere. Many of them were sitting at the bar but managed to populate a large percent of the tables as well. Since I didn’t relish the inevitable besiegement that having my drink at the congested bar would trigger, I elected to take a small table for two over against the wall. The bar was dark…like really dark, except for the proliferation of ultraviolet (UV-A or black) light sources. The UV-A light distorted the colors in the room, especially the copious quantities of lipstick these fallen angels wore. They looked surreal. It reminded me of some kind of alien planet. Most of them walked with a ridiculously exaggerated swish. About the time my butt hit the chair I was wishing I’d simply ordered a beer with the meal I had just finished at the little mom and pop sidewalk Thai restaurant.

Soon a waitress was asking for my order. I’d already learned that Singha Beer was Thailand’s version of Budweiser. Many of the American expats living there would argue Singha was far better. My beer was not immediately forthcoming. Before my beer arrived I had politely returned the smiles of several angels flying too close to the ground and with equal politeness repeated my no thank you. By the time I’d had my first few sips I’d become quite impressed with the telepathy or angel-intercom used to signal who was a player and who wasn’t. It didn’t take long before I was collectively identified as a no-player and was able to finish my drink in peace. When I’d finished my drink and was making my way toward the door, a couple of die-hard angels gave me one last shot. I went up to my room alone and tried to get a good night’s sleep. But sleep didn’t come easy that night…I was too excited.

My alarm sounded and the backup wakeup call came at 5:30am. I did not want to miss my flight due to Bangkok’s notorious gridlock traffic. The bellman was at my door almost immediately after my call. Each floor had a bellman-security person. My call to the front desk was immediately relayed back up to my floor via walkie-talkie. He placed my bags in the holding area and by a couple of minutes after 6:00am, I was sitting in the Nana Coffee Shop. To my surprise, several Americans were already having morning coffee and breakfast. Some were still accompanied by their fiancée of the previous evening. This was definitely a long way from anything I’d ever known…this was not Texas.

Kim was waiting and as soon as the bellman saw me, he moved my bags to Kim’s car. I quickly paid my bill and walked briskly to the waiting car. Fully one hour later, I was making my way to Air Vietnam’s check-in.

Descending Into Cambodia

A Land of Wonder–A Land of Tears

I strained to get my first glimpse of Cambodia from the Boeing 727’s window as we descended through the clouds. I could see forest covered foothills in the distance, but it was mostly flat flooded rice fields dotted with palm trees. As we taxied off the runway and toward the terminal, I was struck by how small the terminal was and how old all the airplanes were. I could see several Convairs on the ramp. This was the airplane I’d been told I’d be flying. They were far more modern than any of the piston airplanes I’d flown in the Congo. They were still in use by airlines in the United States. There we also plenty of C-46 and C-47 (DC-3) aircraft. I looked across the ramp as I was making my way from the plane to Phnom Penh’s outdoor terminal. On the other side of the airport, the ramp was filled with C-130, C-47, AC-47, T-28, plus OV1 and OV10 (military observer or spotter aircraft) planes. The civilian ramp had military personnel with new M-16s everywhere. While the physical features of the Cambodians appeared similar to the Thais, it was obvious this was not Thailand. Cambodia was a country at war.

I was one of only a handful of Americans on the plane. I was met midway across the ramp by an American asking me if I was Jimmy Jacks. When I replied yes, he introduced himself as Josh Oates, (pseudonym) asked for my passport and escorted me across the ramp and directly to the head of the immigration checkpoint line. I could hear numerous French voices grumbling in line behind me. I didn’t bother to turn around. I was immediately stamped into the country and taken to the baggage collection area. When I had my two bags, they were given to a Cambodian in an airline uniform who was told to take them to the Tri-9 office. My escort shook hands with the customs agent and my customs formalities were instantly finished.

Josh was Tri-9’s director of maintenance. He told me Roger Ford, Tri-9’s chief pilot and director of flight operations would be landing shortly and wanted me to accompany him on his next flight which was scheduled to be a quick turn after landing. We walked over to a little restaurant in the arrival and departure area and ordered a cold drink. I had some kind of Cambodian cola knockoff. No sooner had they brought our drink than Roger’s flight landed. Josh’s men were meeting the plane. I spotted Roger walking toward the terminal. He stood easily head and shoulders above all the Cambodians. He joined us, virtually inhaled an orange soft drink. He immediately got up and told me to come along; he would give me an indoctrination flight.

My First Tri-9 Flight

When we arrived at the plane I looked around and didn’t see his copilot. When I asked where he was, Roger said…you’re it. He had given the copilot the rest of the afternoon off. Roger said they were shorthanded, and everybody had been flying a little too much. I casually mentioned I’d never seen the cockpit of a Convair 440 before, to which he replied…don’t worry…you’ll be seeing plenty of them. I also was not accustomed to flying in an airline operation. While we were in the middle of a war and the U.S. government was underwriting our operations with fuel and contracts to the Cambodian airline companies, the deceptive airline mantle was our ability to be in the country without being in violation of congress’s edicts.

Roger and the three cabin attendants were all in uniform. I was wearing one of my pencil-legged safari suites made by the Indian tailor back in Kinshasa. To say I looked a bit out of place would have been an understatement. I noticed the cabin crew curiously watching me. I hopped in the right seat, adjusted the seatbelt and got the mic and called for a clearance. Like in my initial Congo flights, I had trouble understanding the controller’s English. I jotted down the clearance, and immediately we started running the checklist. I had never heard of half the things on the checklist and likewise had little idea where they were located. By the time we were ready for the before takeoff checklist I was stressed, and the back of my shirt was wet in spite of the fact that the Convair had air-conditioning and pressurization. Thankfully, the before takeoff checklist was short and soon we were roaring down the runway.

My first in-aircraft opinion of Roger was heading south rapidly. This was cowboy…this was not Wigmo…this was not professional. I had had no training on the aircraft and this sure as hell was not how to learn. This was a far more modern cockpit than our Wigmo planes and I didn’t even know where the emergency checklists were, much less how to execute them. I was definitely not professionally impressed. Roger, however had this type of personality that made just about everybody like him…including me.

Within what seemed no time at all, we were approaching Battambang. The first thing I noticed about the decent to landing was it was not initiated till we were within about five miles of the airport. When the decent was begun, we started going down like a brick falling from the sky. It was steep. When I asked Roger about the steep descent, he smiled and said it was better than pulling a SAM 7 out of our butt. I knew enough about SAM 7 missiles to know most encounters were fatal. I asked him if the bad guys were really that close to the airport. Again that Roger Ford smile accompanying an almost inaudible…oh yes.

The rapid decent scared some of our passengers but for others, it appeared to be the high point of the flight.

Our return passengers were all waiting as we taxied in. We had fueled in Phnom Penh for the return leg so within about ten minutes we were ready to start engines. I did much better with the check list this time as I’d used the brief flight to Battambang to hunt around and locate as many of the switches and other controls as possible.

When we reached the end of the runway Roger told me to make the takeoff. As I smoothly moved the throttles forward to the takeoff position, I was impressed with the power these huge R-2800 engines with alcohol injection were putting out. WOW! If my father could see me now.

As we approached Phnom Penh’s Pochentong airport Roger asked me if I was ready to try a landing. My answer, of course, was of course. He assured me that the Convair didn’t have any serious landing idiosyncrasies and that I’d be just fine. He advised the steep decent we executed in Battambang would not be necessary here in Phnom Penh…at least not yet. That was a relief. I made a normal approach and a smooth landing. I’d never flown an aircraft with thrust reversers before but that worked just fine as well. As we taxied in, I noted my back was a little wet again. Even though it had been fun, it was obviously stressful as well. I was ready to head home, wherever home was going to be.

Josh and his crew met the flight to see if we had any maintenance issues. The plane was clean (clear of squawks or maintenance discrepancies) so we all headed to the Tri-9 office. The mechanics secured the aircraft, I grabbed my bags and we got in the crew cars. I rode with Roger. Josh and the mechanics rode in a jeep. I learned I’d be staying with Roger that night; that he had a large company provided villa and plenty of empty bedrooms. He said he had an apartment all set up for me that was fully furnished and already had a maid. He told me we would fly again first thing the following morning but for only a half day. From there he would take me to the Tri-9 administration office, process me in, get me an ID card, then take me to get some uniforms made and show me my new apartment. Roger, for all his apparent lack of cockpit discipline, managed to make