Up the Coast
We headed north at 7 AM with our guide and driver, neither of whom speak English, or American, for that matter. This is Rt. 1, the only north-south road in the country. it runs through areas heavily contested during the war, as it was the only land route connecting US and ARVN bases. As we headed north, there were several old bunkers remaining, usually the big ones built to protect the bridges. They didn't work. Most rivers have the wreckage of several prior bridges lined up side by side; one from the French War, destroyed by the Viet Minh; and one from the American War, destroyed by the Viet Cong.
As we drove north, things began to seem more primitive. Oxen abound and work the fields. People lift water by hand for irrigation instead of using the gasoline pumps common in the south. The road narrows and is rough. Most of it is paved, however, or at least once was. One startling observation was that most of the trucks on the road here in central Vietnam were US Army Multi-fuels, both deuce and a half and 5 ton. There are tankers, Stake and Platforms, Utility carriers, and dump trucks, all running better than anything else over there. The US procurement office should be very proud that its fleet is still operating just fine after 25 or 30 years.
We stopped for a stretch at Sa Huyna beach to enjoy looking at the pretty waterside. A man walked past us onto the lovely beach and laid a log, right there in front of us on the sand. So much for the pretty sites.
We stopped at Quang Ngai for lunch. At the only other table in the restaurant sat 8 or 10 VietNamese men who from time to time would try out their English words on us. As many did, one asked if John is my baby. I said yes. He said, "Baby is very beautiful." After that, we shook hands all around, twice, and took a group photo. Continuing north, we turned off to the East of Rt. 1 and drove about 15 km into what used to be the cluster of sub-hamlets called My Lai. 504 people, old men, women, and children, were murdered here in several nearby locations in March of 1968. A company of infantry under Cpt. Medina ran wild here with automatic weapons and grenades. 2Lt Wm. Calley led one platoon in killing 170 of them in one ditch.
The village was burned and napalmed, probably in an attempt to cover up what had happened here. There was little left. Afterward, villagers gathered remains, cleared the ground, leaving a little mound about a foot high to mark the family hut locations. Then, each family were buried together in their home sites and a stone erected giving the names and ages of each family member. I found no names between child and grandparent in age.
There is complete quiet at Son My, as it is now called. There is time to reflect upon the evil which can twist the minds of men. I shudder at the thought that it is a wonder it didn't happen more often. Take a bunch of teenagers 12,000 miles from home, convince them that they will probably die there, put them in the steaming heat with deadly force in hand, teach them that VC are to be exterminated, have them take several days of casualties, and they well might snap. The did, and 504 people died without reason. Of course they were VC sympathizers, in their sandals, who wouldn't be? There were 3 helicopter crewmen who tried to stop the killing. They even landed on a road and evacuated a dozen people to safety.
One of those people was a little boy, who now is the curator of this site. Last year two of the pilots came back to visit and be welcomed and thanked by the villagers. The US Army finally got around to giving them medals. The third man has died.One of those people was a little boy, who now is the curator of this site. Last year two of the oil ots came back to visit and be welcomed and thanked by the villagers. The US Army finally got around to giving them medals. The third man has died. Heading north once again, we came upon the huge base at Chu Lai. It is deserted now, merely a march of sand dunes beginning to swallow the berms of long ago. We drove through the base to the sea where we were treated to the sight of fisherman in small, round, woven basket boats working the sea. From what we saw, the fish were fairly safe.
North again, we saw a young girl sitting by the roadside with a hammer, turning big rocks into little ones and little ones into gravel. She had several neat piles of graded material by the roadside for sale. I thought this must be
an anomaly, but climbing a hill to look down over the old base camp of Chu Lai, we looked down into a quarry to find scores of men with sledges doing exactly the same thing. Just at dark, we arrived in DaNang. It was a long and hard day, but nothing compared to that of those fishermen, or those breakers of rock.
Heading north once again, we came upon the huge base at Chu Lai. It is deserted now, merely a march of sand dunes beginning to swallow the berms of long ago. We drove through the base to the sea where we were treated to the sight of fisherman in small, round, woven basket boats working the sea. From what we saw, the fish were fairly safe.