Exit Visa

By Marcus Clark

EXIT VISA is a factual novel about the aftermath of the Vietnam war, a vivid and gripping narrative, it chronicles the horrors experienced by those who fled after the fall of Saigon.

We have all seen movies about Vietnam. But have you ever noticed, none of them tell you what happened when the war ended? What happened to the population when the communists took over? Why did hundreds of thousands of people flee? What happened in Kampuchea that led to two million people dying?

EXIT VISA gives vivid descriptions of the last days of the Vietnam war; the murder of the Kampucheans during Year Zero; working on the Ho Chi Minh Trail; living in Saigon after the communists took over; the fleeing of 'boat people' from Vietnam; the boat journey to Malaysia; resettlement in Australia. This is one of the few books published (in English) that describes these events through Vietnamese eyes.

In this novel, a young schoolteacher and her family flee the approaching communist army. A brutal and corrupt police sergeant bribes his way out of Saigon and onto a jet. An elderly jeweller watches in despair as the city and people he loves are destroyed. A Khmer Rouge fanatic, trained to torture for pleasure and to kill on orders, seeks sanctuary in Vietnam; a young communist soldier loses his faith in the new order and goes into hiding and starvation with a frightened woman and her children. Each is seeking an Exit Visa, no matter what the price.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Download eBooks
• Release date: Apr 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201308346

Marcus Clark

Marcus Clark   I have always had an interest in fiction and contemporary history. In my novels I combine recent events with an overlay of fiction, intertwining the two. I have written eleven novels, which are being re-published one by one.   My intention is to write novels that will involve the reader so that they are absorbed into the story and the events they are reading about. MORE BOOKS BY MARCUS CLARK: Coral's Rules The Eve of Destruction Exit Visa Inside Mystic Lodge Terrorists Against Their Will Sheba's Vow Bad Seed (And Other Short Stories) Steamy Short Stories How I became a Guru (And Other Short Stories) Katy and the free-running chooks

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EXIT VISTA

by

MARCUS CLARK

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© Marcus Clark 1989

The lines from Strange Fruit by L. Allen are reproduced with permission from the copyright holder, J. Albert and Sons Pty. Ltd, 9 Rangers Road, Neutral Bay NSW 2089. All rights reserved.

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The characters and incidents portrayed and the names used herein are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

INTRODUCTION

EXIT VISA is a factual novel about the aftermath of the Vietnam war, a vivid and gripping narrative, it chronicles the horrors experienced by those who fled after the fall of Saigon.

We have all seen movies about Vietnam. But have you ever noticed, none of them tell you what happened when the war ended? What happened to the population when the communists took over? Why did hundreds of thousands of people flee? What happened in Kampuchea that led to two million people dying?

EXIT VISA gives vivid descriptions of the last days of the Vietnam war; the murder of the Kampucheans during Year Zero; working on the Ho Chi Minh Trail; living in Saigon after the communists took over; the fleeing of 'boat people' from Vietnam; the boat journey to Malaysia; resettlement in Australia. This is one of the few books published (in English) that describes these events through Vietnamese eyes.

In this novel, a young schoolteacher and her family flee the approaching communist army. A brutal and corrupt police sergeant bribes his way out of Saigon and onto a jet. An elderly jeweller watches in despair as the city and people he loves are destroyed. A Khmer Rouge fanatic, trained to torture for pleasure and to kill on orders, seeks sanctuary in Vietnam; a young communist soldier loses his faith in the new order and goes into hiding and starvation with a frightened woman and her children. Each is seeking an Exit Visa, no matter what the price.

More books by Marcus Clark

The Eve Of Destruction

Exit Visa

Sheba's Vow

Against Their Will

Inside Mystic Lodge

Steamy Short Stories

Terrorists

PART 1

TRIN THI VINH

TWENTY-ONE-YEARS-OLD

SCHOOL TEACHER

HUE, SOUTH VIETNAM

MARCH 1975

It was my brother who first told us about the massacre on Route 7. I was dozing in my bed, listening to the distant sounds of artillery when I heard his voice in the kitchen. I dressed quickly and rushed out to see him.

He looked terrible—his army uniform was ragged and dirty, torn on the sleeves and smeared with grease and blood. His face was haggard and thin, and his eyes had a droopy look about them, like he hadn't slept for days. His arm was wrapped with a dirty bandage and stained with blood. He was telling my mother about the murderous debacle on Route 7 out of Pleiku.

When the North Vietnamese army—the NVA—attacked Ban Me Thuot, the government troops were stunned. They never expected the force and the firepower that hit them so quickly.

At two in the morning, long-range artillery began destroying military targets in the town; the airfield was bombarded and closed, cutting off air support except for the one operational Chinook. The North Vietnamese army assembled ferries for the river crossing, then brought tanks, armoured vehicles, troops and anti-aircraft guns pouring across to attack the defenders. The next day the North Vietnamese Army captured the town. Pleiku would be the next target.

When the news broke that General Phu and his staff had flown out of Pleiku, and the army was starting to withdraw, there was widespread panic. Air Vietnam offices were besieged. By the afternoon of 15 March, everyone knew that the government was pulling the troops out. South Vietnamese (ARVN) soldiers rushed off and told their families to flee.

The soldiers blew up the ammunition dumps before leaving, while the police abandoned their uniforms and left with all the other officials. As people moved out, looters moved in. All the prisoners were released from jail, and it was everyone for himself. By 16 March a hundred thousand people were fleeing down Route 7 stretched out bumper to bumper for thirty kilometres. The road was a narrow disused track, pot-holed, snagged with vines, bamboo, broken up with wash-outs, sandy gravel, steep hills and broken bridges. Four thousand vehicles jammed onto it: buses, cars, trucks, motorbikes; and mixed up among them was the army with tanks, artillery, and trucks. In the lead was a detachment of South Vietnamese army engineers patching up the road and repairing bridges.

The column reached Cheo Reo without serious trouble, but ahead lay the Viet Cong in ambush. The road was narrow, hemmed in by jungle and mountains. Rivers had to be crossed, and the road twisted and turned, winding its way through the steep hills.

It was the poor who had to walk—the old, the women, and the children. The soldiers travelled in packed army vehicles. Those who walked soon grew tired; their shoes wore through, but they continued with bloodied feet, without food or water. It was two hundred and sixty kilometres to the coast.

When the Viet Cong attacked from the jungle at the river crossings, there was total panic. Tanks were blown up by rockets and burst into infernos. The tanks that followed reversed wildly trying to escape the rockets, running over people coming up from behind. There was complete terror. Trucks and buses were set on fire, shells exploded among them while the refugees ran frantically, looking for safety. The mixed column of civilians and soldiers was spread out along the road and travelled at a crawl, or sometimes stopped for hours at a time. Occasionally the army was able to drive the Viet Cong back; then everyone travelled on further until they were ambushed at the next river. The people at the back panicked when they were bombarded; they pushed frantically forwards, drowning those in the front stopped at the river. Others were shot trying to swim away. Everywhere there was death.

––––––––

Old people fell down in exhaustion and were left to die in the heat. At night vehicles ran over those stumbling along in the darkness. Children were separated from their parents and never saw each other again. The wounded were abandoned and died slowly in pain; burnt-out trucks and dead bodies littered Route 7. There was no order, no authority, no direction—only panic, fear and chaos. And all the time the communists kept up their attacks. Soldiers and refugees surrendered to them and were put into large camps. South Vietnamese planes came over and bombed both the communists and the refugees in the camps. Some people were able to escape to Reo Cheo or Pleiku—but these towns were now burnt to the ground. There was no safety anywhere. It was a trail of death and blood that didn't end.

Now refugees were flooding into Hue! We could feel the communist noose closing around our neck. It terrified us when we saw the thousands of people fleeing from Quang Tri. They came to Hue in trucks, buses, cars and motorbikes—and they were all panicking. They told us that Quang Tri had been abandoned by the paratroopers as the communist troops advanced. The officials and paratroopers had left by plane for Saigon, leaving the people unprotected. The North Vietnamese army was heading for Hue with hundreds of tanks and thousands of armed soldiers.

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During the 1968 Tet Offensive I was a girl of fourteen, yet I still remember the horror clearly. Our family fled Hue after it was captured by the Viet Cong. When we returned, we saw what had happened to those who stayed behind. When the Americans counter-attacked, thousands of houses were destroyed by bombers and artillery; six thousand civilians were killed by bombs, shells and bullets. They had to destroy Hue to save it.

At the beginning of the Tet Offensive, some of the people of Hue had welcomed the Viet Cong and the Northern troops; President Thieu was not always popular. The Americans and the South Vietnamese army counterattacked; they bombed and shelled and napalmed before sending troops in to drive the communists out.

As the communists were driven back, they began to blame the civilians for collaborating with the Americans. The communists came at night and rounded people up—whole families sometimes—tied their hands behind their backs and shot them in the head. Then they began to shoot people because they would not fire at helicopter gunships.

Finally, the communists were driven out, and the Americans came back with the South Vietnamese marines. Then the marines shot people who they suspected of collaborating with the communists. They shot people for not fighting against the communists. Between the marines and the communists, over two thousand people were murdered. Later on, when the government was in control again, all the murders were blamed on the communists.

As civilians, we learnt to get away from fighting. Armies didn't care about people; they would destroy a village or a whole city of civilians to kill one enemy soldier.

The people of Hue had learnt what happened to those who stayed behind. So, in March 1975, we had no intention of staying put. President Thieu tried to reassure us; he said that the 1st ARVN Division—the best in South Vietnam—would fight to the death. They didn't say that, Thieu did. My father complained that instead of talking about fighting to the death, he should have sent more troops, rather than withdrawing them to Saigon. The South Vietnamese army was worried about its families in Hue. Soldiers deserted at the first opportunity so that they could help their families escape. I know because my brother was one of its soldiers.

'Where is Papa?' my brother asked.

'He's trying to find transport to Da Nang.'

'Don't pack!' he said urgently. 'Listen carefully—I don't have long. We've been fighting the NVA in the mountains, but they are too strong for us. We are short of ammunition and fuel. They have more tanks, more fuel, better guns. They have pushed us out of the mountains; we cannot hold them without help. We shall try to stop them at Highway One, but you must leave for Da Nang now because they will try to cut the highway. They are very close—so you must leave right this minute. You'll be safe in Da Nang. Once they cut Highway One, you'll be trapped. Come on, pick up what is on the table and leave right now!'

'But what about Papa?' I asked.

'I'll go with you and find transport. We'll find him together. Come, now! Get the children and we'll go.'

So we did not even pack but left with my brother immediately. We walked quickly towards the petrol station because we knew that was where the vehicles had been leaving from all night. Many people had already fled. Father did not want to go this time; he talked of fighting, yet everything was hopeless. We saw Papa in the street, hurrying away in the opposite direction.

'Stop him!' I cried. I was frightened that our family would be split up, which would be the worst thing that could happen to us.

Anh dropped his rifle and ran after Papa—yelling above the sound of engines. All about trucks, buses and cars were loading with people and pulling out. He caught father, they embraced and walked quickly back to a large open truck.

'Get in,' Anh said to us. 'You must hurry!'

Already there were twenty people standing on the back of the truck.

'Come with us, Anh!' I said. My eyes ran with tears.

'No, I must stay and fight,' he said. 'I'm going back to my unit.'

He embraced me and I sobbed. My mother wept, my two sisters Xe and Han looked worried, frightened—both on the verge of tears. We climbed onto the truck; the engine was running. Papa stood on the ground weeping and embracing my brother.

'I must stay and fight,' Anh kept saying, but his rifle lay on the ground abandoned where he had dropped it. Our truck was full of people and they were getting nervous; they wanted to go. They yelled to the driver and banged on the cabin with their fists.

'Papa!' I called desperately. The truck tailgate closed. I feared Father too would be left behind at Hue, that he wanted to be left, that he wanted to fight tanks and artillery. Father turned to climb on and began arguing with the men locking the back of the truck. Anh insisted they must let Father on, and while they were arguing a soldier of the ARVN who had been on the truck all the time called out to Anh.

'Hey, aren't you coming?'

Anh said, 'What?'

'Get on the truck! The officers have all gone. The soldiers are leaving, we've lost Hue. We cannot hold it! We must fall back to Da Nang! It's too late to save Hue!'

'We can't give up Hue without a fight!'

'Then you'll fight alone. Our company is leaving for Da Nang! The officers have all gone.'

Papa had climbed up. The tailgate was locked. The crowd was yelling to be off. Everyone felt nervous, afraid the tanks might come rolling over the hill at any moment. Our truck began to move.

'Anh! Anh!' I called out. 'Come on, please!' The truck moved forward onto the roadway and out into the traffic. Anh looked tired and puzzled. I was desperate. 'Anh! Come with us!' He took a few staggering half-running steps after the truck. It changed into second gear. He ran towards the back of it faster and faster, but he couldn't catch up to it. I wept as he ran desperately along the road, his heavy army boots clomping along. The truck slowed, and then stopped behind a line of traffic waiting to get onto Highway One to Da Nang.

Anh reached the rear of the truck, puffing and wet with sweat. He leapt up on the back bumper bar; my father caught his wrist and helped him on board. Now the truck only inched forward and it took a quarter of an hour before we got moving again.

When our truck finally crawled onto Highway One, we all gave a nervous cheer. Gradually Hue retreated, first behind corners, then hills and mountains. Our truck was noisy and bumpy; it was overcrowded with swaying people, pressed one against another, unable to sit down. All around us trucks, buses, cars, Hondas and even bicycles crowded along Highway One towards the safety of Da Nang.

The sun was fiercely hot, the air sticky, our bodies sweated and smelt of fear. The convoy slowed to a crawl—no more than a brisk walking pace—and there was still more than ninety kilometres to reach Da Nang. We had no food and little water with us, only two bundles of clothing and some cooking utensils.

I said to my brother, 'Anh, will they attack us before we get to Da Nang?'

'No, they'll be too busy taking Hue. You'll see, we'll be there soon.'

'Are you sure it will be safe in Da Nang?'

'Of course!' he said firmly. 'Da Nang has the biggest airbase in South Vietnam—they have helicopters, jets, and hundreds of tanks.'

An old woman, wizened and dark, stood nearby. She heard what he said.

'And soldiers?' she asked.

'Of course, Da Nang has a hundred thousand soldiers!'

'And how many did Hue have? Where are they? What is the good of soldiers if they do not fight?'

Anh became angry. 'We did fight, old woman! We fought the North Vietnamese all through the mountains. We fought them for weeks without rest. They were just too strong. They had more tanks, more artillery, more ammunition!' He turned his back on her. 'What has happened to our division?' he asked the other soldier.

'Scattered, broken; some officers left to get their families out, and then the men began splitting up. I think the Third Regiment is still fighting. If only President Thieu had not withdrawn the paratroops to Saigon! Why did he do it? Did he mean to abandon us?'

'There were rumours of a coup in Saigon.'

'But we needed them here, with us! Look at the mess now!'

As we passed through some small towns along the way, we stopped and picked up more passengers. They sat on the mudguards or clung to the bumper bars. We could see other vehicles travelling the same road—some held bicycles tied on the front or the back, and others had people riding on the cabin roofs, clinging on desperately wherever they could. Honda motorbikes passed us—sometimes carrying whole families, two or three children sitting on the petrol tank with father, and mother sitting behind them. They sped past, weaving in and out of the trucks and buses.

I was beginning to feel sick from the effects of the heat and the jolting of the truck. Suddenly, I heard a terrible scream—and at the same instant, I felt our truck bump and knew it had run over someone who had fallen onto the highway. In a moment I saw the man sprawled on the roadway squashed near the wheels. The truck following us also ran over him being so close together. I turned my eyes away, sickened. It was not long afterwards that I saw a smashed motorbike on the side of the road and nearby the mangled remains of two adults and two children. Another young child, about two years, old sat staring at the crushed bodies and wailing. A woman was trying to calm it down.

Our truck came to the Hai Van Pass and stopped. Everyone in our truck became nervous, tense with anticipation. We just had to reach Da Nang where we would be protected by a fortress of steel. We knew we would be safe there; then the communists could be driven from Hue again, and we could return just like before.

Everyone in our truck kept looking about at the towering hills. We knew we were defenceless, crawling forwards at walking pace; trucks and buses were jammed nose to tail.

I broke the silence, thinking out loud. 'I hope nothing has happened up ahead.'

The old woman answered. 'When our people fled from Pleiku, they thought the communists would let them go. People said that President Thieu had made a deal—he would surrender the central highlands if they would let the people go unharmed down Route 7.'

'Keep quiet, old woman,' Anh growled.

She continued, 'The Viet Cong ambushed them, machine-gunned them from the jungle. The bridges were blown up in front of them and they were trapped at the rivers. They're all dead now, thousands and thousands of them.'

Anh was scornful. 'I tell you it is different this time. There are no Viet Cong. We will reach Da Nang soon and then we will turn and fight.'

Her wrinkled eyes squinted at him with distaste. 'What will you fight with, soldier? Where is your gun? Look at this soldier and those in the next truck. They have no boots, no helmets, no weapons! Will they all fight too?'

'Woman,' he laughed, 'the sun has made you dizzy. You need a drink of water. Da Nang is a fortress city. We have a hundred thousand soldiers there, hundreds of tanks, thousands of rifles, boots and helmets. We have a giant airbase, with jets, helicopters; we have ships—we can receive supplies by sea and air. They could never defeat us at Da Nang! We will drive them back into the mountains!'

Our truck lurched forward once more before stopping. I felt nauseous from thirst and exhaustion; we hadn't brought food with us. My straw hat gave my face a small pool of shade, but my body sweated with heat and fear of death. I wished the old woman would keep quiet. We knew how thousands of refugees had been massacred on Route 7 trying to escape; and we knew it could happen to us.

'Soldier, what do we do if machine guns and artillery fire at us?'

Anh said, 'Get down flat in our truck, the sides will protect us from the bullets and the artillery will—'

'Is that all—just lie flat in our graves? How do we all lie down when we cannot even sit?'

Anh blushed. He should not have admitted that we could be attacked.

'And will you soldiers return to Hue to find your rifles?'

'Old woman, keep quiet or I will put you off this truck! You can walk. You are spreading fear and old-woman's panic. You must keep quiet. Look, the trucks are moving again.'

I smiled with relief. We moved forward faster, and it soon seemed that we would reach Da Nang alive, although my parents looked tired and ill, and my young sisters were unusually quiet.

It was about a hundred kilometres to Da Nang, and we took eight hours to reach the outskirts. I had expected I would feel ecstatic when we arrived at our haven. Yet when I saw Da Nang with my own eyes I felt a terrible fear. This was no fortress city prepared for a siege. Yes, there were many soldiers, maybe even a hundred thousand—who could tell? Many were in bare feet without weapons; some were carrying radios and furniture that they had looted from shops. Many were drunk.

In 1968 we had been put into a huge shed, given food and water. This time things were different. We disembarked from the truck, tired, hungry and sick with apprehension. We soon found that there was almost no food left in the town. There were no toilets, nowhere to wash. We were able to get one bowl of water from a tap but had to queue for half an hour. People were camping everywhere, even in old cars. The schools were crowded with thousands of refugees. People seemed to be continually surging through the city as different rumours spread, first to the airport, then to the docks. Everyone was trying to escape, including the soldiers.

My little sister Xe was four-years-old and was normally a very happy, active child. When I was home, she spent a lot of time with me, often helping me in the kitchen. She would talk and talk and ask me hundreds of questions. She liked to get dressed up in my clothes and clomp around the house in my shoes. She would carry my briefcase, and say that she was going to the university, and when she came home she would be a doctor.

Han was eight years old and looked rather like me. She often asked me questions about the war; Han also asked father—but his answers never satisfied her. She knew that Anh was a soldier in the ARVN but couldn't understand why father seemed uncommitted to our side. Yes, he wanted the South to win, but he also wanted President Thieu to lose. He hated the corrupt regime and their Western values, as he used to say. Whenever planes or helicopters flew over, Han wanted to know if they were our planes or enemy ones.

––––––––

When we arrived in Da Nang and saw the mess, she kept quiet. Finally, she said to me, 'Trin, our side have lost the war haven't they?'

'I'm not sure, Han. Wars last a long time. This one started before I was born, but perhaps we have lost this time.'

'Why did we lose? Can't our soldiers fight properly?'

'Yes, of course they can, but they are tired of fighting, and we've used up all our tanks.' I looked at Anh, feeling embarrassed for him.

Anh said, 'Perhaps the Americans will help us now. They always promised not to let the communists overrun us.'

Papa snapped, 'Hah! They are also tired of war. If we need them to help then let us lose now, by ourselves. Let it be over and done with.' He was bitter.

The streets of Da Nang were more crowded than I had ever seen before. People were thick on the footpaths and in the streets. There were soldiers everywhere—many had thrown away their uniforms and were drunk, some carried automatic rifles carelessly as if they didn't care who they shot. I saw one group of soldiers carrying radios, cameras and watches, and later I saw the shops where they had been looting. Some shops were boarded up, while those that sold food had only bare shelves and despondent customers.

Our family kept huddled together, shepherded by my father at the rear and Anh at the front. We were frightened because Da Nang was overcrowded with people who were all desperate. People said that the officers had deserted their men, and the soldiers had lost the will to fight. Even if some wanted to fight, they couldn't organise the others.

Yet if we could escape to Saigon there was a chance that we could survive. Many people were beginning to panic, crazed with hysteria that became stronger hour-by-hour, spreading like a virus.

We walked along the streets looking for somewhere to go, some shelter, or escape, perhaps a friend or a relative from Hue. We saw an officer in uniform yelling at a group of soldiers. He was waving a pistol about in the air, threatening them if they did not do what he wanted. Some of the nearby soldiers were drinking beer from bottles; most of the men were still in uniform. Anh stopped and listened to the officer urging the men not to desert. Our family stood huddled together around Anh, not wanting him to leave us, but waiting to see what he would do. The officer was ordering the soldiers back to the barracks, but before he said much more there was a burst of automatic rifle fire, very quick, and part of his head was blown away while we watched, splashing out blood and flesh onto the nearby soldiers who yelled in disgust. One or two of them cheered, then everyone simply dispersed, leaving the mutilated body crumpled on the street. Anh turned away and we hurried on.

It was obvious now that the ARVN was in chaos; the soldiers no longer took orders from the officers. No one was preparing to fight the North Vietnamese army, so there could only be surrender or defeat. We could all see this and wanted to get out of Da Nang. People congealed into family groups, dragging their few possessions through the streets, looking for safety, but their faces showed panic. Most families were looking for food, but there was almost none to be bought.

We all needed to use a toilet, but there was none. We looked for a quiet spot, then huddled together behind a tree like animals. I felt so ashamed, so miserable. Mother was weeping silent, little tears. The two girls were very quiet; they sensed that we were all in danger. Anh looked sick and desperate—he didn't speak much but I could see the frustration and fear close to the surface.

We recognized a family we knew from Hue. Father talked to them and they said they had been in Da Nang since the previous morning, but the situation was steadily getting worse. Last night they had to sleep huddled together in a shopfront because there was nowhere else to go. Other families had slept in makeshift shelters or whatever they could find. They told father to be careful because gangs of youths and marines were going about looking for young women—dragging them off at gunpoint and raping them. They had just seen marines breaking into a drugstore and swallowing tablets—we later saw sleeping tablets scattered across the footpath. The man told father that we should all go to the airport as the Americans were trying to airlift everyone out of Da Nang.

We set off walking to the airport as one large group. Before we had gone very far we saw three Viet Cong openly walking along the street, smiling, carrying their flag and automatic rifles. They walked in a tight little group, but who could stop them? The entire ARVN was in retreat—there was no one to even oppose three Viet Cong! Why should two or three divisions of NVA troops have any trouble capturing Da Nang? Anh said that President Thieu was to blame for this rout. But where would it end? All those soldiers, all those tanks and helicopters and warplanes—would they be surrendered to the communists?

As we walked the people around kept surging through the streets as they heard different rumours. We could hear the sound of jets taking off and landing at the airport. Many thousands of people like us were heading in the direction of the jets. And soldiers were heading there—carrying their guns.

The civilians had a look of dread about them, openly weeping as they dragged their wailing children through the streets. Soldiers sped past on Hondas, the pillion passenger often carrying an M-16 rifle cradled across his arm.

In the streets the smell of people was everywhere. There was a heavy stench from refuse, from people urinating into gutters, and worst of all the smell of dead bodies left to decay. The air was hot and sticky, and when the wind blew I felt sick from the smell.

When we arrived at the airport, it was to a scene of hysteria. Thousands of people were milling about hoping to get on a flight to Saigon. They were all frantic—there were too many people and too few planes. Most of us would be left behind. Some men were trying to sell reservations for seats on planes, but they looked very suspicious; I doubted they had any reservations. Whole families wept with fear and anxiety as they carried their few belongings, churning along the barbed wire barricade.

Soldiers began arriving and demanded—with guns drawn—to go to the head of the queue. This incensed others who had waited patiently for hours. We saw people climbing over the barbed wire, others cutting through it, and heard a loud cheer as they surged forward onto the runway heading towards a big jet, but the jet taxied away—further and further. The crowd now flooded onto the runway. Soldiers were firing over the heads of the crowd trying to control them. A big jet came in low, looking for a place to land. It made a few passes and then climbed back into the sky and disappeared. The panic and desperation increased as the jet receded into the distance. It was a sad, terrible mess—it was Vietnam.

Father and Anh both said we should get right away from the airport as the people were crazed, likely to do anything. I didn't tell Anh, but I felt our greatest danger in the days to come would be from our own soldiers, especially the marines.

As we left, we could still see crowds surging onto the runways, running towards a few remaining helicopters. I could see that we would not be able to get on a plane; they would need hundreds of big jets, but now they could not even land one of them.

Anh, calling loudly for us to follow him, began to weave his way through the crowd, away from the airport. I called after him, 'Wait, Anh! Slow down, the children can't keep up, we'll be separated.'

Father said, 'Where are we going? It's hopeless, we'll never escape. The NVA troops will capture Da Nang and then Thieu will bomb us. There's nothing we can do!'

'We must go to the docks, perhaps we can get on a ship. We've got to get away quickly.'

So we set off for the long walk to the docks. Little Xe was exhausted by walking in the sticky heat; Anh and Father took turns to carry her. Mother looked tired and ill, her face lined with worries. I clutched her arm and hurried after the others. We carried a bag each—they were stuffed with our few possessions—clothes, some cooking utensils and shoes.

It was a long walk to the docks, and we were going against the tide of people. We were all exhausted before long, so we stopped and sat under a tree for a rest. Sweat dripped from us and soaked our clothes. Mother was almost too tired to go on, her legs giving out. I think she only got up because the children needed to reach safety.

Madness swirled all around our little oasis. People were still rushing to the airport on Hondas, in cars, trucks, and on foot. Jets circled above looking for a place to land, and this visible sign attracted the people. Gunshots sounded in the distance. The civilians were desperate and frightened, the soldiers drunk and afraid, expecting to meet their deaths soon, the children bewildered and clinging. The war lobbed closer and closer, the North Vietnamese Army closing in for the kill. And like always it would be the women and children who would die first.

After a long discussion, we decided to camp under the tree for the night, then go to the docks in the morning. We had been separated from the other family at the airport, but we still hoped to meet up with them. Anh went off by himself in search of food. He came back at dusk with a small amount of rice and some drinking water. We spent the night camped under the tree. We slept poorly as we were all edgy and worried, in the background we could hear the sound of guns and the drunken yelling of soldiers.

In the morning we set off again. The streets stank, littered with refuse, and everything looked tattered: shop windows smashed, makeshift shelters everywhere, and rubbish in the streets. Before we reached the docks, we could hear the people. It was like the airport all over again. Thousands of people crammed onto the docks, all fighting for a place on a few ammunition barges that the navy was towing out to sea.

When we arrived, a navy ship was pulling a barge out from the docks; we walked along the edge of the crowd trying to see. When I was able to peer through the crowd, I shuddered. The people were so crazed, so desperate that they had crammed themselves onto the barge like flies on a piece of meat. Many of them were clinging to the sides, unable to find enough room to stand on it. They were hanging on with their fingers, and as I watched the barge rocked and twisted as it passed through the ship's wash. They fell from the side like ants and disappeared under the water. I saw a head bobbing about and another man hopelessly trying to swim after the barge. I felt sick in my stomach knowing there was nothing anyone could do to save these crazed people.

Father said to Anh, 'It doesn't look good here. I think we should move back from the dock and wait. Perhaps a big ship will come in.'

'But if we move away from the dock we will lose our place! If a ship comes in we won't be able to get on board,' Anh argued.

Mother turned and said, 'We can't stay here, it's too dangerous. The children must have some food and water. If a big ship comes in, we will see it. I don't want to get on one of those little barges.'

'Perhaps I should stay here and watch for a ship in case—'

Suddenly the chatter of the crowd rose to a high-pitched babble. A small navy patrol boat came into view, towing a barge behind it.

'Look!' Anh said. 'Let's wait and see what happens; perhaps we can get on board.'

So we stood on the edge of the crowd watching the boats manoeuvring alongside the dock. Many people fell from the dock into the water as the crowd jostled for a place at the front. They drowned without anyone trying to save them; each person was thinking only of himself. I didn't like the thought of getting on a barge at all. I hoped a big ship might pull in and we could all fit safely on it without panic.

The crowd became more and more excited, frenzied; people were trying to anticipate where the barge would stop. The crowd was so thick it was almost like one big animal, all the bodies pushing forward together, like a big Chinese dragon.

––––––––

And then it happened. The barge swept in and stopped near us. I tried to get away, but it was impossible. We were swept forward, pushed along by the panicky crowd, all desperate enough to kill to get on that barge. I could do nothing; we had been near to the edge of the crowd which became the front. We were swept forward while I clutched at Mother trying to hold us together. Father was holding little Xe in his arms; Anh held Han by the arm, but I could not see them. In a brief terrifying moment, I was carried forward against my will and fell down into the barge. Mother disappeared from my grasp and for an instant I saw her crumpled body underneath mine, struggling, and then I was swept on without her. A torrent of people trampled over her, fell on her, jumped down onto her. I tried to get back to her but could not move at all except when the crowd carried me along. I was terrified, panicking and screaming. People all around me fell and were trampled to death. They died under a stampede of feet, unable to breathe, their heads kicked and trodden on by crazed people, mad people.

In a moment I was pushed near the side of the barge, crushed tight against the people around me. I could see Father nearby. I called out. 'Father! Father!'

He turned towards me. I could see tears streaming from his eyes, his face almost unrecognisable with grief, holding up his childless, empty arms.

I could hear my own screaming—terrifying me, but I could not stop. A high-pitched desperate cry of pain and terror, the cry of a mother bird coming back to her chicks and finding only a fat-bellied snake.

I ran out of breath, barely able to breathe now for the pressure of people pushing against me, almost asphyxiating me. Suddenly the barge lurched and jerked away from the dock. I saw men jumping or falling from the docks, fighting for a place. The barge was packed with people pressed together, unable to sit or move. And underneath their feet lay dozens of dead people, crushed and trampled to death—my mother, my little four-year-old sister.

I could not see the navy boat that was towing us. I could not even move. The waves bumping the boat caused people to be squashed against me, making me feel sick. The barge held many men and soldiers. There were some women and children and some older people, but they probably weren't there because they fought hardest to get on board but because they were pushed on.

Anh and Father were close by—they could hear me if I yelled. All I wanted was to get off the barge and onto another ship or land somewhere. And all I could think about was my mother and sister crushed to death, lying somewhere under all those soldiers' boots. It grieved me that they died in such a pitiful way, not peacefully, not among friends in a soft bed, not with honour, the honour of being killed for holding some belief or fighting for some principle, just hundreds of boots, shoes, and feet squeezing until the breath stops and the nose squelches blood, the mind goes blank with pain and death.

Because I could not see the navy boat, I was unable to tell precisely when we were cut adrift to float like driftwood in the sea; it was only when I realised we were not moving forwards, but backwards, and sometimes sideways. The waves rocked and tossed our boat about much more than before, and people started to be sick, to vomit. And since they could not move they were sick on each other, and the stench of sick made others vomit, and we vomited on ourselves, on each other. The sun made me feel dizzy and weak, but I could not sit down, and everything swirled and went black. I was held from falling by people pressed against me, being sick on me, each of us sweating, dripping with sweat, the heat of our bodies locked in so that no breeze could penetrate into that barge. And then the thirst came: unquenchable.

How long would we be allowed to drift? What was going to happen to us? Surely the navy would come back and land us somewhere and not just abandon us.

We drifted for hours like that—sick with vomit, with the stench of sweating bodies. I became very weak, with an extreme headache, hardly conscious, drifting in and out of sleep. Time past in a barely perceptible way; standing pressed to the backs and sides of those people around me—all men, but reduced to miserable, shattered wrecks in a few hours. As the afternoon wore on I began to notice the light dimming; for a long time I thought it was my vision fading.

I heard sounds of children wailing and women weeping. And before long the men were yelling also; fierce yelling—something was happening—the men were fighting not far from me. Later, I heard splashes in the water, but in time it grew quiet again. No one talked; we were all weak from the heat, from seasickness, from the sun on our heads, from thirst and hunger, from standing and sweating, and from not knowing how long we would have to endure this horrendous torture.

It became dark. The sea rocked us endlessly, but it was calmer and cooler as the darkness descended. My thirst persisted with feelings of weakness and hunger. I desperately wanted to sit down but knew that if I did I would disappear forever beneath a forest of legs. But some time during the long, cold, endless night, shivering and standing, I found I had more room, enough to squat on the body of an unconscious man. All around I heard moaning, and often fierce yelling and more splashes.

The early light of dawn, a new day began, and for the first time since I had been on board I saw the sea. I knew that I had to fight for my life, that we had been abandoned to drift endlessly. Around me as the light grew I could see bodies. Some were dead, some were sick, and some were weak. The weak sat or leaned on the sick, and the sick sat on the dead, and beneath them were the first dead. The stench of death was everywhere.

Shivering with cold and my teeth chattering, I called out to Anh.

'I'm here,' he answered weakly. I could see him a few metres away. He cradled Han in his arms.

'Is she all right?' I called out.

There was a long silence, then he called 'Yes, but she's very weak.'

'Where's Papa?' There was no answer. I screamed out, 'Where's Papa?'

A tired voice called back. 'Dead.'

'Oh no!' I wailed. 'Oh no!' I couldn't believe all this was happening. It was like some fearful nightmare; being pushed onto the barge, Mother and Xe crushed to death, towed out to sea and left to die, and now my dear father, dead.

I wanted to get across to Anh. There was some room between bodies and people now. But it was a hopeless jumble of sick and dead bodies, sitting, squatting and lying. I got weakly to my feet but felt too feeble to force a passage. My arms and legs were trembling with weakness. I sat down again, and waited, moaning and keening.

I heard a frightened voice calling my name. 'Trin! Trin!' I lifted my head. 'Trin! Trin! Help me!' It was Anh.

I stood up. I could see Anh with Han cradled in his arms, she was convulsing, shaking and choking. Anh was sobbing, violent, tearless wails of sorrow. I stood looking for some way to get across all the bodies, all the bent men, the tangle of arms and legs. It was impossible. I watched Anh with Han dying in his arms. Suddenly I was walking, striding across dead faces, over live arms, legs and backs. A few moaned and some yelled weakly at me but none had the strength to do more. I reached Anh and sat down on something, perhaps a stomach, or chest, half-dead or perhaps dead, I don't know. I watched little Han die—cruelly, like a little rabbit caught in some hunter's steel trap thrashing out its life. The eyes flickered, the head shook, the arms and legs trembled, fluttered, the throat cried out and the departing soul left a dead sister in our arms.

We sat like that for hours, silently, with her dead body cradled between us.

The sun was burning hot and with it came a terrible thirst; before long I could hear loud arguing about drinking sea water. The stench from the barge was overpowering, nauseating. The barge was rocking capriciously with the waves first to the left, then the right. It was drifting with the current, the wind, aimlessly.

My head ached and my eyes pained and stung from the salt; I had cramps, but they passed. Although the sun felt hot, by now I was not sweating much at all. I put my head down on my knees. Many of the men were stripped off to the waist or underclothes. Some held shirts over their heads to keep the sun off them. I had lost my hat but still had my scarf tied across the top of my head.

I sat and dreamed and waited. Perhaps that was why