Setting the stage:  The Vietnam War ended when South Vietnam fell into the communist’s hand on 30 April 1975. During the last couple of months prior, there were retreats and chaotic evacuations of many cities from the central part of Vietnam, ending with the collapse of the capital, Saigon. About one hundred fifty thousand got out of the country, but many others were left behind.

The following is a letter from a South Vietnamese fighter pilot wrote to one of his classmates, also a pilot in the South Vietnamese Air Force. In 2007, after more than three decades without any information about each other, miraculously they found each other thru the Internet. His friend was captured by the communist during the evacuation from Da-Nang, a major city in the central part of Vietnam. After being released from the communist prison, in 1980 he and his family, including his wife and five kids, risked everything including their life to find freedom in a small boat. Their escape was a dangerous ordeal similar to thousands and thousands of other Vietnamese refugees in their plights for freedom. They were fortunate to arrive safely in Thailand and then settled in Switzerland.

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Letter to a dear friend from a lucky Vietnamese refugee

My dear friend Sang,

It was truly a miracle that after more than three decades, I finally connected with you through the magic of the Internet during Easter in 2007. I often have wondered if you survived the evacuation from Da-Nang, perished in the China Sea, or faded away in the communist re-education camp! I was so glad to hear from you and want to tell you all the ups and downs of my life since the final days of South Vietnam in 1975. I hope this will bridge the 32-year time gap between us since we last saw each other, early 1975 in Da-Nang when I was there for A-37 transition training.

A few days before the fall of South Vietnam, the VC bombarded Bien-Hoa (BH) airbase with many of 122mm rockets and other types of artillery. Our squadron was ordered to evacuate to Tan-Son-Nhut (TSN), about 30 miles south west of BH. We ran to the flight line and took any Skyraider aircraft we could fly to TSN without knowing its operational condition. Since both main runways were damaged by the incoming rockets, we had to use a narrow taxiway for the evacuation. My two-ship flight was the last to take off; I had problem unfolding the wings and signaled for my wingman to take off first. Finally I was able to unfold the wings, rushed thru the take off check and pulled into the taxiway. Quickly but steadily I pushed the throttle forward and released the brakes. The aircraft accelerated but suddenly veered to the right; I struggled to keep it centered on the taxiway but was not very successful. I decided to put more flaps down, hoping to get some additional lift quickly to get airborne. The aircraft slowly gained altitude; I thought I was out of trouble. Suddenly I felt like the landing gears catching the barb-wired fence along the taxiway, and the aircraft sank again as I was heading toward a row of concrete aircraft shelters adjacent to the taxiway. With the sense of danger coming over me, I pulled the ejection handle hoping the Yankee escape system would pull me out safely.

Bang! … The canopy was gone … why am I still here? What happened? Realizing the situation, I snapped the throttle back; the aircraft dropped down and pancaked hard into the drainage ditch between the fence and the concrete shelters. Two airmen ran over, climbed on the right wing:
 - Are you OK Lieutenant … are you OK …?
They quickly pulled me out and assisted me into an ambulance. To this day, I have no idea as to how the ambulance got there so quickly during the chaos or if it was just a coincidence At the clinic, a flight surgeon on duty quickly examined me and asked:
 - Do you feel any pain anywhere?
I shook my head, he gave me a DNIF (duty not include flying) for 4 days. I thanked him, collected my flight equipment and left. I got to the base’s main gate and paid a motorcyclist to take me to TSN.

That evening I arrived at my fiancée’s home in the outskirts of TSN, but did not say anything to her and her parents about the incident. There was no point to burden them anymore than what they were already enduring during this hopeless time for South Vietnam. They were very concerning about their son, my fiancée’s younger brother, an army officer stationed just south of Saigon. After the evacuation from BH, my A-1 squadron relocated to a small vacant building behind the control tower. During this time, I saw her almost every day. My happiness was fragile, uncertain, and short lived; South Vietnam was in grave danger of being overrun by the VC. All fighter pilots were asked to submit the names of their immediate family members for evacuation by C-141s to Guam. A different evacuation plan was also in place for the families of cargo pilots. I asked her parents for her to go also, but they agreed only if we go together, not separately. I did not know what to say, but still submitted her name and her youngest brother just in case!

I stopped by the transportation building in TSN; it was crowded bustling with families waiting to be evacuated. I hurried back to the temporary quarters on base and alerted my friend and his fiancée plus a few other squadron members and their families. I urged them to go there right away. They quickly collected some belongings and arrived in the building about half an hour later. Shortly thereafter my friend’s fiancée along with some other families were flown out of the country on a C-141 flight.  Watching my friend’s fiancée leaving, I was sad, wishing mine was also on that flight!

In the afternoon of 28 April 1975, while talking with my fiancée in the living room, I heard what sounded like several bombs exploding nearby. One of her siblings ran down from the balcony:
 - I saw some aircraft diving and circling over TSN.
We quickly went up and saw several A-37s, looking like they were on a bombing run over TSN. Several columns of black thick smoke were also towering over the sky in that direction. I turned to her:
 - I need to go to the base, I may have to fly.
I told her mom also. We walked closely together toward the back gate of the house.  I held her hands:
 - Let me go to the base to see what’s going on!
We briefly looked at each other, not knowing what to think or do next! It never occurred to me that was the last time we saw each other. I hopped on my motorcycle and headed toward the base. The street was pretty much deserted; here and there some people were out on the street, but their faces showed obvious sign of despair. People and vehicles, mostly military trucks crowded the base entrance; it took me more than an hour to get in through the side gate.

Inside the base, I realized that my squadron was just moved behind the fire station, a short distance from the previous place near the control tower. The old place was too close to places that were still burning from the bombs dropped by the A-37 jets. A close friend of mine and I went to the military housing area to have dinner that evening. Interestingly, the area was crowded with people eating, drinking and enjoying themselves. The atmosphere was superficial since they knew if the VC took over, they would lose everything including their freedom.  
 
Throughout the night, the base was suddenly barraged from all directions with incoming rockets. I jumped out of my sleep into a nearby foxhole; other pilots in my squadron reacted the same. The sky was black but full of hissing sounds and streaking flames from incoming rockets and explosions. I stayed in the foxhole counting my luck and waited for daylight, time passed so slowly! 

Daylight came but the incoming rockets continued to explode around us. I looked up and saw an AC-119 gunship at about 7 or 8 AM, circling around TSN and firing on targets just around the perimeter of the base. Suddenly a white streak of smoke, maybe from an SA-7, headed toward the aircraft and hit one of its engines then exploded; the wing broke apart! The aircraft spiraled slowly down toward the ground and exploded somewhere over the horizon. I saw what looked like some crewmembers jumping out, but did not see a parachute. Even after several years of flying combat, I was still stunned by what happened. What’s a courageous aircrew at the 13th hour of the Vietnam War!

There was no command and control, only chaos. We received no orders or direction on what to do. Everyone was pretty much on his own or at best, some small units were still somewhat coherent in their actions but only within. My friend and I decided to scout around the main base to see what was going on and also find our way out. Some buildings, barracks and aircraft were still on fire; several towering columns of thick black smokes filled the sky. We saw several soldiers, their faces clearly reflected the uncertainty and of what to do next. Here and there, a few bodies were on the street; their faces still not covered.  On the flight line, complete chaos; cars, motorcycles, bombs, guns, clothes, and various items everywhere! We arrived at an aircraft revetment and saw several members from our squadron getting into an A-1E. We stopped, my friend climbed up first; I parked my motorcycle against a revetment wall and locked it. I did not expect to ever see my motorcycle again, which had been my main means of transportation since I came back from flight training in the US in early 1972.

Besides the two pilots at the controls, our A-1E also carried several others in the blue room behind the cockpit. We looked at each other but said nothing. The pilot started the engine and quickly taxied to the runway to take off. The aircraft accelerated and slowly gained altitude but also headed in the general direction of the downed AC-119 gunship earlier in the morning. During take-off I saw a C-47, for some unknown reason, flattened near the end of the runway. I hoped and prayed that we would not be a target of another SA-7 or anti-aircraft gunfire from the outskirts of the base. We finally reached what seemed to be a safe altitude and headed toward Can Tho air base, south of TSN. After refueling in Can Tho, we were on our way toward Utapao, an US air base in Thailand. Our aircraft carried 13 people including 12 pilots and one airman. We were sitting in the blue room quietly, uncertain about our future. Since early in the morning I was pretty much just reacting to whatever the situation was with survival instinct; without any thought or deliberated action, I was on autopilot. When we were over the gulf of Thailand, then I began to realize – Oh my God! I’ve lost my beloved homeland, my fiancée, my families, relatives, friends and my flying career. It hurt so bad knowing that I would never be able to see them again. I wondered if my family, my fiancée and her family could finally get out or what would happen to them. 
 
We landed in Utapao and followed an USAF “Follow Me” pickup truck to a parking ramp; it was about 1 or 2 o’clock in the afternoon on April 29, 1975. I saw several other VNAF aircraft already there: fighters, cargos, helicopters, etc. We got out the aircraft and were told by an USAF airman to leave our weapons and survival kits underneath the aircraft. Another airman climbed up on a ladder and used spray-paints to cover the Vietnamese flag on the aircraft. My eyes watered when I saw that. I am now a man without country and family! Even after more than three decades, I still get choked up as if this tragedy just happened yesterday!

We gathered under an open building near the flight line. During the afternoon, I saw several other VNAF aircraft coming in to land. The runway was busy with take-offs and landings, mostly from KC-135 tanker and U-2 reconnaissance aircraft. I suspected they all headed toward Vietnam to support the evacuation, operation “Frequent Wind.” During the night, those with families were flown out to Guam. Too exhausted, I slipped into the night. The next day, April 30, 1975  at about noon, another sad announcement, but not an unexpected one came; South Vietnam surrendered and now under the control of the communist! From that point on, April 1975 was known to all of us as “Black April” or “Tháng Tư Đen” in Vietnamese. “Đen” means sorrow and hopelessness.

At the refugee staging and processing camp in Guam, I volunteered as a translator hoping to meet and ask the incoming refugees about my fiancée and her family. I had hoped that she and her family found their way out, and miraculously I would see them. With each passing day, my hope dwindled. I left Vietnam with no more than the flight suit on my back and a flight brief case with my training record and high school diploma. I also had a duffle bag with some priceless pictures and letters, but they were lost during the transition from Utapao to Guam. Each time a bus load of refugees arrived from the airport, I was happy for those who were reunited with their love ones, but at the same time sad for myself and others who were alone in this sad journey.

Early in May 1975, I was transferred to Ft. Chaffee, Arkansas one of the four refugee camps in the US. I continued to work as a volunteer and translator, still looking for information about my fiancée and her family. During my spare time I worked with the Catholic youth group in the camp lead by a Vietnamese Catholic priest, also a refugee himself. I contacted the Red Cross and gave them my former AF pilot instructor’s name, Capt. Walter P. Linne, but had no idea as where he was about at the time. The Red Cross was able to contact him; he and his wife sponsored me out to Columbus AFB in Mississippi where he was then a major and a pilot instructor. Columbus was just a few hours north of Keesler AFB where I got my pilot training about 4 years earlier.

On a Republic Airline flight from Ft. Chaffee to Columbus, I met a Vietnamese American stewardess. She married an American colonel and had lived in the US for several years. She was very kind and helpful to me. She also paid for my lunch during my change over in Memphis. I only had $5 in my pocket given by a charity organization as enroute spending money. Her kindness was the first good memory as my refugee life began. 

I stayed with my former instructor’s family for about three months. Two weeks after leaving the refugee camp, he got me a night job as busboy in a cafeteria on base. I earned minimum wage doing various things from washing dishes, sweeping the floor, and cleaning tables to helping the chef; each night I was exhausted. It was difficult and depressing to spiral down from flying combat one day to sweeping floor the next… However, the physical hardship was in no way compared to the loneliness and separation from family and my fiancée, without the hope of ever seeing them again. One thing kept me strong and going was my freedom, and the thought that no matter what I had to endure, I was still a lot more fortunate than others who did not escape. I also had the opportunity to go back to college; a dream I had since 1972 when I was stationed in Pleiku, Vietnam. The physical and mental challenges during my flight training in the US, especially the hardship and intensity of the “hell weeks” during my officer training at the VNAF Training Center in Nha-Trang, gave me the determination and endurance in overcoming these difficulties in the beginning of my refugee life.

I and few other single refugees shared an apartment. I struggled to make a living at various minimum-wage jobs: laborer in a toilet seat manufacturer, street sweeping, moving furniture and miscellaneous jobs in a college. I finally landed a job in the final assembly department of a small, privately owned aluminum fishing boat factory. The job required more skill and paid better. During the first few years, at night I often had nightmares about VN. Although I didn’t know how to fly helicopter, I flew one in the darkness of night at tree top level from a coastal town to Saigon. I then landed on the rooftop of my fiancée’s home, gathered everyone onboard, hurried back out to sea, and landed on an US carrier. Daylight came, I suddenly recognized that everyone in the helicopter turned out to be complete strangers to me. In my dream, I was still in Saigon, so afraid of being caught by the communist. That meant many years in their horrible prison. I woke up, looked around and realized I was in the US! What’s a relief! Going back in time much longer, I remembered when I was 4 or 5 years old, my family then from North VN, was on a small boat trying to escape communism. In the middle of a night, we were on a small river passing near a communist’s checkpoint. My mom covered my mouth with her hand and kept me down on the bottom of the boat; she did not want me to make any noise! My first memorable experience of being afraid!  

One day, I don’t recall the date, during a small gathering of refugees in Columbus, Mississippi I met Xuan, now my wife. She used to work for the Americans in the Four Party Joint, a peace talk committee which included the US, South Vietnamese, VC, and the North Vietnamese. Because of her work, her family was on the list to be evacuated by the US; however, her parents were hesitant since their son who was an officer in the army. His whereabouts and safety was unknown, and they did not want to leave without him. They packed their essential belongings and then unpacked. Her father, a Northerner who had escaped the communist in 1954 was ready to go but her mom, who had little real experience with the communist, did not want to go. She wanted to wait for her son. They finally agreed to have a younger sister accompanied Xuan. Xuan and her sister evacuated just a few days before the fall of South VN. They also came to settle in Columbus. Shortly after the communist’s take over, her father committed suicide by taking an overdose of sleeping pills. Her mom also passed away a couple years later, she was so depressed since her husband’s death and the growing divide of the family.  

As lonely refugees in a foreign land trying to make a living, after almost a year knowing each other we got married in a very simple wedding ceremony in early 1977. An AF chaplain presided over the wedding mass in the chapel inside Columbus AFB. The reception was in a meeting room behind the chapel with a dozen of refugees and a few sponsors’ families. We struggled to begin our life together and prepared for me to go back to college. We saved enough to buy a small mobile home and a basic car, so when in college I did not have to worry about rent and car payment. In the summer 1978, I applied and was accepted to Mississippi State University (MSU) to begin my aerospace engineering studies.

Then, it was 10 years since I went to school, I decided to take algebra and trigonometry to refresh myself and also make sure that I started with a good basic foundation. I studied all the time, during the holidays and school breaks I worked at the boat factory to get some extra money for school. Xuan worked all kind of jobs from a clothing manufactory to electronics assembly to support us. Our daughter was born in February 1981, it was tougher financially, but we managed since my graduation was only a little more than a year away. I graduated Magna Cum Laude in May 1982; I was not smart but just very focused and worked hard. When I was young, my mom often recited to me an old oriental saying “With enough determination and hard work one can turn a piece of steel into a useful needle!” That stuck in my mind. We also became US citizens in the same month. I stayed in school for another year for my graduate study in mechanical engineering. Near the end of 1982, our son was born. The day he was born was the first time I’ve never missed a class during my entire time at MSU.
 
In May 1983 I got a job with the USAF at Eglin AFB, Florida as a weapons aerodynamic engineer; the same place that I got my A-1 combat pilot training about 11 years earlier. In 1987, the AF sent me back to MSU to complete my Masters in Mechanical Engineering. We were happy and our life got better and better. I felt so lucky I met Xuan, without her sacrifice and devotion I would not be able to reach this far. Looking at her I felt a lot of sympathy and admiration for many other refugee wives and mothers, they must have been scarifying tremendously for their families during the difficult beginning of their life in the US.

For five years since setting my foot in the US, I did not try to contact my family in VN. I was afraid that the communist would use my letters to threaten and make life even more miserable for my family. When I was able to contact them, my father had already passed away. I sent some gifts back to help and assisted some of my brothers and brother-in-law to escape VN by boat. One of my brothers and sisters and Xuan’s younger brother got out of VN by boat. Both of mine settled in the US but my brother-in-law ended up in Canada. We applied for both of our families in VN to come to the US when we became citizens in 1982. It took about 10 years and untold amount of paperwork until they finally were able to come to the US. My mom passed away in 1999 due to lung cancer. The rest of our families are now all over in different places: California, Oregon, Georgia, Louisiana, New Jersey, and Toronto, Canada. I also heard that after the fall of South VN, about 1 or 2 years later, my ex fiancée also got married. Her husband was a medical doctor in the South Vietnamese army. They’re still in VN and doing well; their three sons also went aboard to study and are successful people. I’m glad for her but also sad when knowing that her father, a former South Vietnamese AF officer, after spending several years in the communist re-education camp, he and two of his kids were drown during an attempt to escape VN by boat.

In 1990 I transferred to the Air Force Flight Test Center at Edwards AFB, CA and have worked there since. I consider myself very lucky to continue my career as an engineer in aviation. Although I no longer fly but because of my work I have continued to be involved in the test and evaluation of many types of aircraft such as B-2, B-1, B-52, F-16, F-22, C-17, C-130, C-5 and Global Hawk.  The USAF also continued to support my education through tuition reimbursement as a result after going to night school for about two years, I got my MBA in 2002. I’m indebted to America and can never fully express gratitude for my freedom and the opportunity to better my life.  I’m also very thankful to the USAF for my pilot training, my graduate education, and the opportunity to work at the greatest place on earth for aviation, the USA Flight Test Center. I’m living my own American dream!

My dear friend, looking back I can only believe that each of us must have our own destiny. Sometimes I ask myself if during the incidence in Bien-Hoa, my parachute did not open during ejection, if my ex fiancée had escaped VN, if I was not fortunate to meet my wife? With one or more of these ifs, how would my life go?
 
Now that we’re reconnected, let me know when you’ll visit California, I can take some time off work to host you and your family. I’ll also take you to see several of our former classmates, who are now in this area. In the very near future, I will try to travel to Switzerland to see you and your family. I also hope during the next few years to go back visit VN, especially my mom’s and dad’s hometown in the North, where I was born. After that … “the old soldier will fade away …!”

Salute and best wishes to you, your wife, kids and grand kids!

PHL