May 13, 1969. I went down to Pho Cuong after the fighting there. It still smells like a battlefield. The Army is dealing with the wounded and the dead. I don’t understand why the joy of victory (killed 98 of the enemy, shot down one HU-1A*, and one tank) still cannot overcome the sadness. Is that only my feeling or is it that of all the people? 15 comrades sacrificed and 21 wounded is not a small number.
The village and hamlet are very quiet; the guns of the enemy’s reaction are exploding like popcorn. I am not afraid but feel hateful and thoughtful.
I’m sitting next to him (that is what we both hope for) but why isn’t my happiness complete? In the dark one can only see the starlight and the brightness of enemy guns; I try very hard to look into his eyes and to see what he wants to say but can only see the same love as before.
He and I are the same; satisfaction is never in our faces, jobs and loves, always feeling incomplete. Is that eagerness for improvement or an ambition too much for either of us?
May 18, 1969. The war continues, all day and night the sounds of guns firing continue, the sound of planes still shouts and yells in the air, and every night the light from the guns brightens all corners of the sky in the direction of the District. The struggle day by day is more terrible and more cruel; our troops day and night are close to the fighting, the burning, bombs and bullets making their skins dark. All my dear Liberation brothers, in thousands of hardships and dangers you are the ones who must take the most, your blood is running and is soaking the flag and all the land you are protecting. This moment I feel deeply that your sacrifice and courage is so sacred and precious. The entire South is on the offensive; your people are everywhere throughout this large land. In everyplace there are footsteps of brave men. I know there are many of you coming from Socialism. Many of you come from peace and now step into this scene of fire and bullets. A few days ago I met a few white skinned young spies with down still on their cheeks. I think that they are high-school students who have just left their pens to take guns and make their way against the Americans to save the Country. All the Country is on the way, all the Country has thrown itself into battle, we must defeat the invading American pirates, and for sure they must return our independence and freedom.
May 19, 1969. Why do I treat him like that? I might make him sad, but I am just that way. It seems to everyone that I am the same, and sometimes I cause the people that I love to be angry or sad. It is not my character to be that way, but it happens because my emotions are so complicated… I ask too much of the people I love. As for material things I never ask for anything, but in matters of the spirit I ask a great deal. Thuan many times has told me that except for his parents, he loves me most of all in the whole world. But sometimes I still doubt his affections. I heard that the situation in Pho Cung is very tense. I know that he is having a very difficult time and want to tell him good things. Instead I sent a letter with only a few words full of blame. My dear young man, I always love you, but love is not always about sunshine and beautiful mornings, peaceful afternoons or evenings full of moonlight safe in the rice fields. Love is also a storm after a sweat-filled summer. That is it! To be a friend of this petty bourgeoise is most complicated.
May 20, 1969. Almost was killed once again. This morning a few HU1As and one helicopter fired into the deep trenches. I sat and saw the extent of their reconnaissance which worried me a great deal. Indeed after a round came close to the tree tops, they found a room full of wounded soldiers. The sound of a grenade exploded close to my ears, the flash blazing bright and the smoke covering the house. Everyone hurriedly evacuated to the trench which at this time was dry but there was really no escape. The helicopter left and I ran to the room of wounded soldiers. Everyone including the ones who could not move had gone to the trenches when the helicopter had turned away, its appearance becoming smaller. Grenades went off continuously around the building, and there were the sounds of rocket explosions by the hill where room number one is.
I turned to Minh; a wounded army comrade waited for help, but what could we do Minh, except to sit here?
I thought about all the people I love north and south and said to myself: “To die is so simple. Everyone waits with disappointment”. But the group of devils fired and destroyed for awhile and then they left.
I ran to move all the wounded soldiers. Tired but happy I carried Kham on my back: after the firing there were casualties, but that (carrying Kham) was the happiest (task). This same day all the groups moved to a new position. Oh my God! All these hardships to reach the end!
