11
The helicopter was in the air.
Pham Quyen had fastened his seat belt, but the bubble-like cockpit offered little sense of security. Below, the tributaries of the Thu Bon flowed through the plain like the tangled branches of a tropical plant, its swamps connected by a web of narrow waterways like raindrops, dispersing and flowing together as they ran down a windowpane. They were flying toward the dark and ominous jungle of the plateau. The helicopter began to descend as they approached the destination, passing over Chiang Hoa.
As the plains ended there appeared a narrow bottlenecked valley. The plain continued along the upper edges of this lush ravine like flesh clinging to a bony rib. The wide river flowed on peacefully at the bottom of its serpentine canyon. An Diem was situated at the point that looked like the base of the bottle. Even to those with no experience in military affairs, the strategic value of An Diem was obvious at a glance. The Vietnamese pilot sent a message over the radio. Pink smoke began ascending from a white circle below, as small as a coin.
“We’re landing, sir.”
“Good. Tell the patrol leader to be ready.”
As they radioed back and forth, the helicopter hung suspended in the air. Then it slowly began a jerky descent. A cloud of red dust floated up. The helipad was large and paved with asphalt. The dust came from the area surrounding the landing strip. As soon as they touched down, Pham Quyen ran to the edge of the pad, bent over and leaning down away from the propeller. A Ranger lieutenant had been waiting for him and was saluting.
“First Lieutenant Kanh, in charge of the guard detail, sir.”
Pham Quyen looked around the heliport. Militiamen, enough for a squad, spread about on watch. They wore black Vietnamese clothing and Burmese jungle hats. Their carbines were in bad shape.
“Is that your patrol?”
“No, sir. We have the platoon stationed up on both sides of the high hill over there. From up there the site is within range of mortars and rockets.”
“And the front line on the other side?”
“The American special forces and our battalion. We’ve been dispatched from that unit to here, sir.”
“Do you have field glasses?”
The lieutenant barked a command to his staff and a pair of binoculars were immediately brought to Pham Quyen. Just as the lieutenant had said, the buffer detachments were visible. He could make out a high sandbag barricade, barbed wire fences, and a secure operations road. He also scanned both sides of the nearby hill. They had set up machine gun nests, a trench mortar and a 3.5-inch rocket launcher. The soldiers had dug out foxholes and were surveying the opposite sides of the hills. Pham Quyen looked at his watch.
“Fire warning shots.”
The lieutenant hurried to a waiting Jeep and picked up the radio transmitter. As Pham Quyen looked on through the field glasses, 81mm cannon started firing and a heavy machine gun began to sputter. Rockets and trench mortar shells flew up and rained down into the ravine. The valley seemed about to explode from the noise. Cannon smoke was visible from three directions.
“Good job.”
He got into the lieutenant’s Jeep and they drove up along the barbed wire on the perimeter of the new hamlet. Outside the trail were two more layers of barbed wire encirclements, and beyond them, a deep trench had been dug for defensive emplacements. He could see the new houses standing there, ready for occupancy. They were made of cement and adobe. Each had been neatly painted white and the windows had bamboo shutters.
“What will be the inspection route?”
“The front row of houses, the community laundry, the public toilet, the school, the playground, and the village hall. The ceremonial ribbon is over there at the main gate of the village.”
They were heading toward the village hall where the dedication ceremony was to be staged. American and Vietnamese flags were hanging everywhere, and streamers with flags of the United Nations member countries were hanging stiffly, like fish from the Thu Bon strung up to dry. Waves of girls in ahozais came into view. The girls, bouquets and wreaths in their arms, must have been students from Hoi An.
Already seated on the raised platform were the police band, American and Vietnamese staff from the troop information and education section, a few domestic and foreign reporters, and some prominent local citizens. A pair of MPs were standing guard at either end of the platform. Overhead was a large banner with “Congratulations on the Opening of the Phoenix Hamlet” written in the center and the words “Peace” and “Freedom” in big letters on the two ends. A familiar-looking American major from the advisory council got out of a car and extended his hand to Pham Quyen, and said, “Congratulations.”
Pham Quyen looked at his watch again and added, “From now on An Diem will know peace.”
“The provincial government still has a lot work ahead of it before peace comes to the whole of Quang Nam Province.”
“And what gifts have you brought to commemorate the founding of this settlement?”
“We’ve supplied some sturdy American spades and other farming implements. It’s not enough to go around, but they can be shared.”
“Good idea. Things were different back a few years ago with the strategic hamlets. At one dedication ceremony, there was an excess of several thousand toothbrushes. At another, they opened crates to find heaps of chocolate.”
“We’re well aware of those incidents. Another extreme case occurred when somehow women’s curlers for permanents were delivered by the bushel. A bureaucratic error.”
They heard the noisy whir of approaching helicopters in the distance. A formation of aircrafts — the governor’s helicopter, a Cobra obtained from the US Marines; followed by a Chinook and two more gunships in the rear. Pham Quyen quickly got into the lieutenant’s Jeep.
“All the houses have been checked?”
“Yes, sir. We went over all of them this morning with a mine detector. And the platform was double-checked again just a half hour ago.”
“Well done.”
The escort gunships hovered above while the Chinook descended first. The American advisory council emerged from inside. The welcoming party all saluted. They waited for the governor around the helipad perimeter. His Cobra landed and the general got off with a kind, smiling demeanor. Disembarking behind him was a tall American civilian, the only one there wearing a suit and tie, who waved. The two shook hands with each and every one of the American and Vietnamese officers who had arrived before them.
With the lieutenant’s patrol Jeep in the lead, they approached the venue of the ceremony. The police band played “The Double-Headed Eagle.” As they mounted the platform, all of the prominent leaders of the An Diem community stood up and the future residents of the new hamlet who had been squatting in front of the platform also nervously got to their feet. Everyone applauded.
Pham Quyen stood before the platform. He waited until everyone took their seats and then said in Vietnamese,
“The official dedication ceremony will now begin.”
He then repeated it in English. A Vietnamese flag was raised over the empty hamlet commons, and the national anthem, composed in the time of the People’s Party, was played. The old people kept their lips firmly sealed. The soprano voices of the girl students were at too high a pitch. The flag with its three red lines on a field of yellow fluttered.
Next, The Star-Spangled Banner was raised. Only the American officers saluted. The brass band played a clumsy rendition of “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” The flag was beautiful, its many white stars shining on the blue background in perfect harmony, recalling how the nation’s new territories had been integrated as it expanded.