BAMBOO DOORS

By Michael J. Nickerson

With time running out and the whole North Vietnamese Army working their way South, two young U.S.Navy sailors and two combat hardened U.S.Marines are thrown together in the midst of all the chaos of evacuating high level civilian families before the enemy can get a hold of them to make an example to other

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hemingway Publishers
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798869040312

Book preview

BAMBOO DOORS

By

MICHAEL J. NICKERSON

BAMBOO DOORS

Copyright © 2023 by MICHAEL J. NICKERSON

All Rights Reserved no part of this publication may be reproduced stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

ISBN: XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Published by: Hemingway Publishers

www.hemingwaypublishers.com

BAMBOO DOORS IS A TALE OF LOVE, ANGUISH, LOYALTY AND HONOR.

This is a total work of fiction, and as with any good story, one should expect a little laughter and a few tears.

This tale is told in a cave as people try to survive a typhoon, a story of love found during an actual event in history. Some of the characters that show up in this tale may resemble real people, living or dead, and if so, that’s completely unintentional, so please enjoy.

MJN.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

October 2012

The Cave

October 1974 Hanoi

October 1974 Northwest of Saigon

South Vietnam 1975

Bien Hoa Air Base

27 April 1975

28 - 29 April 1975

PART II

PROLOGUE

2nd September 1969- The only movement in the small stilt house was the slight breeze that ruffled the curtains enough to softly push them aside and then allow them to fall gently back down again. Rain was in the air, but the four men sitting around the small kitchen table didn’t even notice. The steam coming off their morning cups of tea hardly moved at all. Each was lost in his own thoughts of a future whose outcome has brought them all together today in this quiet neighborhood outside the city of Hanoi. It was barely 9:00 a.m. when the doctor came out with his nurse and whispered to the four men that there wasn’t much time left and they could go in and say their goodbyes to the great man who lay dying in the other room. The four visitors filed into the bedroom to see their leader propped up by a few pillows and looking as frail as ever. He still managed a smile for his friends, his revolutionary brothers, the new leaders on whom he spent a lifetime building was about to leave everything in their hands.

Quietly, he began to speak as was always his manner, and his four friends had to move in closer, none wanting to miss a word. He talked of his childhood and his wanderings about the world that had led him here, along this path that had brought them all together. He told them individually how he had enjoyed knowing and fighting alongside them. One by one, they bent down and kissed his frail hand, the only sign of the love they could show, and all felt for their friend who lay there dying. One after another, they turned and quietly left the room. The last man bent down to take the great man’s hand. His leader grabbed his hand with what little strength he had left and whispered, When they finally surrender, and they will, accept with honor and let those who choose to go with them do so. Enough have died. No matter where a Vietnamese goes, he will always be Vietnamese. Do this as my legacy, and the whole world will respect us. Le Duan looked down at his dying friend and nodded his head that he would do as he was asked, and as he felt his leader’s grip loosen, the man born into this world as Nguyen Sinh Cung but was known the world over as Ho Chi Minh, took his last breath and died. Le Duan kneeled down and closed his friend’s eyes, stood straight up, and walked out of the bedroom, knowing then that he would never honor his dead friend’s last wish.

October 2012

The gale force winds were now slamming into the face of the cliff where he chose to set up his equipment. The three-foot titanium tripod was anchored to the rock with three stainless steel spike anchors. His camera was a Nikon D-810 DSLR 24 and encased in an Ikelite waterproof clear housing, the kind used by deep-sea divers. It was secured atop the tripod with three stainless steel 3/8" fine threaded bolts. His foul weather gear was well-worn from the many jobs such as this one. It didn’t matter where in the world Mother Nature showed her fury; it was his job to document it for the rest of the world to see. His foul-weather gear was the very best and had saved his life in the past. It repelled water and retained heat, and with the help and talent of a Hong Kong tailor, by adding a thin lining of Kevlar, it protected him from most of the things the wind threw.

The sky was forcing the rain down in heavy sheets, and the wind was gusting at 60 miles per hour and still building. Mother Nature’s force and power really have no equal. The South China Sea looked gray and angry, with large waves and white caps as far as the eye could see. It pitched and rolled as the wind intensified, the 35-foot waves pounding the base of the rock cliff. The saltwater shot high into the air and mixed with the warm freshwater pouring from the heavens above. There was a four-foot drop behind a large outcropping of rock that shielded him from the worst of the wind. Patrick squatted down and went over the checklist in his head for the second time. He still couldn't shake the bad feeling he was having about this storm. It wasn't a fear for his life for some reason. Now, there was a laugh.

No, it was something else, almost foreboding, like an ominous feeling. As he pulled down his clear goggles to protect his eyes, he edged his way around the rock face to peer through his camera lens, maybe for the last time, depending on the Typhoon's ferocity, for he had previously lost his share of equipment. The sight never ceased to amaze him and always brought him back, just for a second to the very first time he faced a Nor’easter as a child. He grew up on the South shore of Massachusetts, where Nor’easters could strike all year around and take lives. Looking at the site before him, a waterspout began to form that would soon grow and dissipate into the wind to be part of a full-blown category-five Typhoon.

Then, checking the compass, the camera pointed northwest into the South China Sea. There was nothing but water and several small Islands between there and Hong Kong. Now, it was time to go. The climb down to relative safety was always the most challenging part. It was a 100-foot drop down the back face of the cliff to the trail. Then, into a rented Land Rover with Mr. Ede, waiting and ready to go.

They had met ten years earlier on assignment in Alexandria, Egypt. Mr. Ede was born in Beirut, Lebanon. His family moved to Egypt while he was still just a boy, where the militant side of the Egyptian Brotherhood recruited him right off the streets of the Souk. They tried to force-feed him a part of his religion he couldn’t agree with. Being a true Believer of his Muslim faith, he could not agree with their Wahhabi rhetoric, so the first chance he got, he broke away from the Brotherhood and returned to the streets of the Souk. Many years later, when they first met, Patrick was in dire need of transportation and quick. The assignment in Alexandria had just