My dear young friend! I did so little for you. How can I change all of this now? Your life is a lesson that I must study forever, study your courage and sacrifice, your responsible spirit, your altruism, strength, and all the understanding of a true revolutionary heart.
January 9, 1969. Bon was 21 years old, 21 and wounded seven times in battle. I will never be able to forget this young spy-platoon leader.
I first met Bon when he came in with a small wound in his leg. After a few days he left though it was still not healed. More than a month later he returned. Wounded this time through to the shoulder bone, he lost a lot of blood so was pale and tired, but after an operation he woke with a naughty smile on his face. The wound was very painful but he didn’t cry and was only concerned if he could return to fight or not. Whenever I visited him I touched his hair and told him: “Don’t worry, I believe that you still can hold a gun and fight well”.
Another day when I met him with his AK on a military operation, he was happy to see me and said: “Good morning doctor. I tell you that my hand is doing well now”. He raised his hand and told me that his shoulder could move normally. I laughed and looked at the ruddy skin of this young Liberation soldier with his mischievous smile.
Today he returned to the hospital, his skin so pale. He lay down quietly without moaning, wounded in one leg from a mine, blood running all around his pants. With responsible spirit and sorrowful heart, I and another comrade worked hard to amputate his leg. Afterwards he still smiled and said: “Now maybe 80% can live”.
Finally though, he could not make it; losing so much blood that he couldn’t keep his strength. My dear Bon, your blood soaks this piece of your homeland, blood following your fighting way. Your heart has stopped beating so the heart of the nation can always continue.
Bon was dead, eyes closed very much like he was asleep. Sitting next to him, my tears drop by drop falling to his head, I touched his hair and it seems that he still lived. No! He did not die: Bon is still alive in my heart and all his comrades are still with him in this life and death struggle.
Sadness is so heavy in my heart and hatred for the enemy is a thousand times heavier. Looking at Bon I think about all the young men that I love who day by day struggle with the enemy, passing through firing and bombings. These days the enemy fights fiercely in Pho Cuong. Thuan was almost killed several times. Oh my God! While those bloodthirsty troops remain we will have sorrow. There is no other choice but to fight until those dead dogs’ heads are broken.
January 10, 1969. Feelings of sadness have continued through these last ten days of constant rain: 10 days which have been as long as months. Is there something coming; is there something restless, uneasy, and impossible to be sure of? Worries and sorrows without number, always seeing danger threatening beloved persons throwing themselves into battle. I say it here...if there is a day which still has the shadows of the American pirates, that day will be one with grief and sorrow. Oh, this war! When will it be finished?
January 11, 1969. The situation at Pho Cuong is still very tense. The enemy is still burning houses and taking away food to carry out their pacification program. Guns are still firing in that direction. Every shot reminds me of the people over there, and among the thousands and thousands of images I saw Thuan, with his black clothing all wet with sweat and rain, his face skinny and pale, tired but with black eyes still bright and with a smile on his face. I miss him so see him everywhere, sometimes even in the hair of a young soldier who has died in my hands. Lien has to face sorrow and mourning. She just received news that her mother is sick and almost dead. No one remains in Lien’s family any more. All her brothers went north to regroup, an elder sister went to Saigon, her sister-in-law was wounded by enemy fire and now we don’t know where she was sent. Only her old mother is left, a mother who has had to suffer all the hardships and sorrow so her children can enjoy the Revolution. Now Lien’s mother’s brain is hemorrhaging; she lies on the bed knowing nothing, no one to care for her. Lien cries, like Thuan cried when his father died, her tears soaking into my heart. All of this is due to the devils robbing our country: no one can argue with this.
