In 1962, the Vietnam War intensified between the Communist Viet Cong and the United States of America. I was only a month away from completing high school when I was required to enlist in the local regional troop. I heard, however, that foot soldiers faced heavy casualties and already knew of many friends in the class above me who had died in battle. I had also seen the cruelty of the Viet Cong. Once, my friends and I were walking to the temple for Tet when the Viet Cong ambushed us with grenades. My friend, Minh, died and the rest of us were injured.
So, when I returned from basic training with the Army, my father hired a lawyer and some witnesses in Ca Mau to create fake birth certificates for myself and my third brother. At that time, he gave me the name by which I have since been known, Tran Quoc Cuong. They also changed my birthdate to 1946 (two years younger than my actual age) to help me avoid the military draft.
I still desired to serve my country, however, so I joined the Navy six months later as a non-commissioned officer. The Navy seemed safer than the Army since there would be less direct combat on the sea. Navy guys also got to wear sharp uniforms and flirt with girls in the different places we traveled. Yet the Navy requirements were much stricter than the general Army and I did not meet the qualifications to become a commissioned officer. I had to first complete additional college math courses because we relied heavily on navigation by the stars.
I served in the Navy for twelve years from 1963 until the fall of Saigon. For the first two of those years, I was a crew member on a large Navy ship. Yet one day, our ship was shot up by the enemy and had to be docked for repairs. I was on deck and didn’t see the Viet Cong soldiers hiding in a small fishing boat nearby. They threw their grenades up onto the ship and I was wounded with many others.[1]
Around that time, the Americans brought over twelve of their “Nasty Class” Patrol Torpedo Fast (PTF) boats to perform covert missions for the war effort. To man each of these vessels, they recruited twenty first-rate crew members (eighteen per boat with two reserves) from the South Vietnamese Navy, totaling 240 men. At the age of twenty, I was the youngest crew member, but all of us were unmarried due to the danger of our missions. Candidates then underwent a rigorous training and selection process in navigation, combat, and resiliency to seasickness. I could not boast as much combat experience as the other men, but I was the top recruit in my class when it came to withstanding seasickness. Partly for this reason, I was granted the privilege to serve on one of the PTF crews and drew my inspiration from American President John F. Kennedy, who had once served on a PTF boat himself. Kennedy had called forth courageous young leaders when he proclaimed, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”
Once every three nights, our PTF missions ventured into the demilitarized zone north of the seventeenth parallel where we scouted enemy locations, rescued downed pilots, and patrolled the coastline. Every night, we deployed three of our boats on these potential suicide missions because if one boat was about to be captured, the other two were instructed to shoot it down. The Americans insisted on zero prisoners of war since they did not want the world to know that they had broken their agreement at Geneva. For the sake of secrecy, none of our boats or their armaments were marked with serial numbers, so that they could not be traced. We also left our personal identification papers at the base whenever we went on missions. Nothing could point to our involvement with the Americans.
Each man in our crew carried only the supplies he needed and we were trained to stand guard at all times. When on duty, we could not even leave our posts to eat or drink or use the toilet. When thirsty, we were only permitted small sips from our water packs. When hungry, we simply ate energy tablets. Before embarking on every mission, we knew that we would either return to base alive or perish in enemy territory. Yet we were never allowed to send letters home describing our missions or disclosing our location. We faced many dangers during our time of service. Once, I was injured while inspecting an abandoned enemy boat when one of our own men accidentally exploded a grenade. We did not encounter any enemy troops that day, but I still carry the shrapnel in my body. On another mission, in 1966, our boat sank after being shot down by an enemy helicopter. Six crew members died, while the other twelve of us swam to shore and were stranded on a remote island in Ha Long Bay for nine days. We collected drinking water from the leaves of plants and were forced to eat whatever critters we could catch since we only came ashore with basic survival kits. We ate more mudskippers (a kind of fish) than I care to recall. And since we had lost contact with our command for an entire week, they were about to inform our families that we were killed in action. My sister was so worried that she went to the temple to inquire of my well-being by using the ritual fortune sticks.[2] Her stick predicted my safety and we were rescued by another PTF boat on the ninth day. Despite these hardships and the dangers we faced, I am proud that I fought for my country and made a small difference in the outcome of the war.
[1] I was also injured another time on the Dong Tam Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) military base in the Mekong Delta. The Viet Cong shot at us from their helicopters while I was standing on the command post aboard the ship. I fell onto the deck when I was shot. Then, other men died and many more were injured. One soldier, who was bleeding profusely, fell right on top of me. So, for a moment, I thought it was my own blood and that I was about to die.
[2] Taoist fortune sticks required a worshiper to offer incense before the altar when they seek an answer from the deity. They would then shake a cylinder full of sticks until one slid out. Each fortune stick had a designated number which corresponded to hundreds of different oracles. The satisfied worshiper would then leave an offering for the gods.
