U.S.  Embassy, Saigon.  27 April, 1975.  Two Days Before The Fall.

"Gunney Sergeant Bradley.  Where are you going?"  asked Lt. Trent, my platoon officer.

"Into town, sir."  I came to attention and saluted.

"Are you fucking crazy, Gunney?  The place is a zoo.  There must ten thousand gooks camped outside the gate."  He looked at me as though common sense had deserted me.  "I gotta go, sir.  I have try and find her.  She's out there, somewhere in Saigon, alone," I said.  He pointed to the ground, "You just make sure you get your ass back here pronto.  We're bugging out at first light."

"Tomorrow, sir?"

"Fucking-A straight.  Choppers'll be here at oh-dark-thirty."  "I'll be back in plenty of time, Lieutenant," I promised.  "Good luck, Gunney.  I hope you find her."  He gave me an un-officer-like pat on the back.  "Thanks, sir.  I plan to."  I saluted again and turned away.  I made my way to the gate, shocked by the mass of humanity encamped just outside.  This was the first time I'd been to this side of the embassy in two days.  Some of the refugees had taken the time to erect shelters made from boxes tossed out by embassy inhabitants.  I saw the looks of fear and hope that creased the faces of this proud people.

I wandered out among them, looking for Song Kim, hoping that she was here waiting for me.  It was no use.  I headed across town toward the tiny apartment that had belonged to her family.  She was the only surviving member.

I knocked but received no response.  To my left I heard the sound of a door opening and turned to see old Mrs. Quong poke her head into the hallway.  "Song Kim no here.  She not here at dark."  The old woman said shaking her bandana covered head.  "Where did she go?"  I asked in Vietnamese.  "She went to find her Uncle.  He has a shop at Vung Tau."  She pointed a crooked finger south.  I thanked her and made my way back to the embassy.  Vung Tau, once a popular resort city, was the evac point for most of the remaining troops.  It was about 80 miles south east of Saigon, a three hour trip by jeep, if I could get one.  I returned to the embassy compound, retrieved my belongings, and went to find Colonel Mathis.  I needed a jeep and he could authorize one.  "Gunnery Sergeant Bradley, why the hell should I give you a jeep?  We're bugging out of here tomorrow and I may need it."  He sat at his polished teak desk, smoking a cigar.  "Sir, I am requesting an emergency transfer to Vung Tau.  I would like to assist in the evac ops there."  The colonel smacked a palm on the desktop.  "Are you looking for a section eight?  The VC are pouring in from everywhere.  Damn tunnel rats!  The NVA is only about fifty clicks from here.  It's too dangerous."

I placed my hands on the desktop and leaned toward my commanding officer.  "Sir, I can get there.  I speak the language, I know the roads.  How many good NCO's you think there are down at Vung Tau?  Those little snot nosed first and second looie's in charge aren't worth a polished dime.  You need good man down there to make sure things get done right."

"Bradley, you are one smooth bastard.  And you've got a set of brass balls, I'll give you that much.  Tell Lance Corporal Davis to cut you a set of TDY orders.  I'll notify Lt. Trent.  Now, get out of my CP."  "Ooh Rah."  I said and left before the colonel could change his mind.  With orders in hand I checked out a jeep and hit the road for Vung Tau.  Getting out of Saigon was beyond difficuLt. Ox carts, bicycles, and dilapidated motor vehicles of all types were heading south, toward Vung Tau, in the hope of escaping the Communists.

I tried to concentrate on the traffic but my mind drifted back to when I had first met Song Kim.  I was a "Yankee soldier boy", and no good in the eyes of most Vietnamese.

"You soldier-boys come here and think you can do anything you want."  Song's father had told me once.  He ran a laundry shop that I had wandered into one rainy August afternoon.  His English was excellent and his attitude towards Americans was understandably tainted.

"You come here with your money and your ideas and think all Vietnamese should think like you think.  We just want to be left alone.  Left alone by you.  Left alone by the Communists."  What could I say to that?  We were here to try and Americanize Viet Nam.  Oh, we put up a good front about saving South Viet Nam from the terrors of communism.  Our real reasons were strictly political.  All we had to do was to kick Ho Chi Minh's North Vietnamese Army all the way to China and set up shop.  The thing was, a lot of Vietnamese didn't want Ho Chi Minh's ass kicked.  The Viet Cong were proof of that.  It was on my third visit to Dom Tan Cho's laundry that I met Song Kim.  She was working in the front, her father out on an errand.  I was struck dumb by her beauty and just stood there, staring at her.  She finally broke the silence.  "You want laundry?"  she asked in broken English, never looking me in the eyes.  Her voice was soft and pleasant-sounding.  "Yes, I am Sergeant Bradley.  I have uniforms to pick up."  I replied in Vietnamese.  "One minute, please."  She said.  She disappeared through a curtain and took my heart with her.

A week later I finally managed the courage to ask Dom Tan for permission to take Song Kim to lunch.  He turned me down flat.

"No, Sergeant.  My daughter is not going to "lunch" with you.  You soldier-boys all alike.  You just want sex with Vietnamese girl.  Song Kim is my daughter, not a whore.  You'll find them near Tang Fan Hotel."  That was nearly eight months ago and it had taken another two months to convince Dom Tan that my intentions were honorable.  Every time my unit returned to Saigon I would go to see Song Kim.  Two months ago, Dom Tan's laundry had been fire bombed by the Viet Cong because he hadn't joined them.  Song Kim had been away, but Dom Tan, his wife Shu Lei, and their son, Dan Quo, had all been killed in the blast.  I took a 48 hour pass and spent the time trying to comfort Song Kim.

"Tom, I should have been there with them.  I should not be alive."  She said , her hands over her face as she wept.

I placed my arm around her shoulder and drew her to me.  "Song, it was not your fauLt. No one knew that the VC would attack you family."

She pulled her hands away from her face and looked up into my eyes.  "I should have been there.  Instead, I was getting our meal."  She looked down, tears dripped from her cheeks to fall onto the bare floor of the small apartment.

I took her face in both my hands and gently lifted it so that her eyes again found mine.  "Your father was a man of honor and intelligence.  What would he say to you if he could speak to you now?"  I whispered.  Song Kim pulled away and studied the floor for a long time.  When she raised her head again a passion burned in her eyes, as if a new person was being born within.  Her voice became stronger.  "Father would say to keep living.  To honor the memory of those who died."  Her hands balled into fists and she shook them in front of her.  "I will honor the memory of my family, but I will not just keep living.  I will find those who did this and punish them."

I was speechless.  I had never seen this shy, beautiful girl so passionate.  I had mistaken her quiet resolve for timidity.  I spent as much time with Song Kim as I could.  She was relentless in her quest to find the murderers of her family.  She questioned other shop owners and people on the street, anyone she thought might lead her to the killers.  She made daily trips to the Saigon Police, who had promised to investigate.  I doubt they ever lifted a finger to find the VC who bombed Dom Tan's shop.  Two ranking members of the department were suspected of being VC.

The last time I had seen her, she was heading for an area of Saigon known to be a VC stronghold.  My reverie was interrupted by shouting as two travelers had managed to entangle their heaps.  I heard a rumbling behind me and turned to see a convoy of U.S.  Army soldiers in deuce-and-half's, two-and-a-half ton trucks.  The truck drivers were straddling the left lane and the left shoulder, making good progress due to the size of the vehicles.  As the second truck passed an army corporal yelled to me.  "Hey, marine!  Fall in behind us, we'll cut a path."  "Thanks!"  I waved to the soldier and pulled in behind the large truck.  The rest of the trip went by quickly.  I checked in at the Marine Corps Detachment and dropped my belongings in my new temporary quarters.  I had a hot shower, ate a quick meal and went into Vung Tau proper.  The streets bustled with activity as refugees poured in from the north, seeking shelter and escape from the approaching North Vietnamese Army.  I knew Song Kim's uncle owned a restaurant and his name was Phi Duc Cho.  Beyond that, I knew little.  Vung Tau was a large city and the refugees had swollen the population to nearly double.  I began wandering the streets, inquiring at the shops for Phi Duc Cho.  My knowledge of Vietnamese was helpful but many shop owners feared retribution by the VC if they were seen helping American G.I.'s.  It wasn't cowardice or obstinacy, it was a matter of survival.

I finally gave up my search around midnight.  Back on base, I dropped onto my bunk and fell quickly to sleep, exhausted.

Vung Tau.  28 April 1975.  One Day Before The Fall.

By six thirty I was back out on the streets searching for Song Kim or her uncle.  I had to be back at the detachment by 1600 to help with the ongoing military evacuation.  Even at this early hour, choppers were scurrying back and forth, carrying men and equipment out to the waiting troop ships.  We had orders to be out by no later than sixteen hundred hours, April 29th.  That gave me less than thirty-six hours to find Song Kim.  I would bring her to America with me, if she would have me.  I bribed a petty officer from the troop ship, Iwo Jima, to hold a space for Song Kim.  Refugees were flocking to the ships on anything that would float in their haste to escape.  Several accidents had occurred as fishing boats capsized from overcrowding.  Many people drowned during these last days of American Occupation.

I found Phi Duc Cho's shop just before noon.  He knew of me through his brother, Dom Tan.

"My brother says you are honorable, even for an American.  I find that difficult to believe.  American G.I.'s do not understand the meaning of honor."  He frowned at me and stood near the door of his shop, arms crossed defiantly.  "I am not your typical G.I."  I said.  "It matters not."  He waved his hand as if to dismiss my claims.  "Americans are leaving and the Communists will take over.  Peace will return, but many will be persecuted for siding with your country.  Please leave my shop.  I do not want to be mistaken for an American sympathizer."  "I'll leave, Phi Duc, if you will tell Song Kim that I am here in Vung Tau.  If you don't tell her, then I'll be back every day.  I need to make sure she is safe.  That it all I want.  Nothing more - not from you."  "I will tell her if she comes here.  Please do not return.  It is not safe for Song Kim or me."  I returned to the detachment and went to work, Song Kim weighing heavily on my mind.  I was supervising the loading of equipment when a Navy seaman approached me.  "You Gunnery Sergeant Bradley?  Thomas Bradley?"  "That's me."  I set my clipboard on a box.  "Sergeant, there is a gook girl at the gate asking for you."

My heart raced.  Song Kim!  I turned my job over to a lance corporal and ran to the main gate.  I almost didn't recognize Song Kim when I saw her.  She was wearing men's clothing and a red bandana held her black hair in a pony tail.  There were smudges on her cheeks and her hands were dirty.  "Song Kim!"  I rushed to her and we embraced.

"Tom.  I must talk with you.  A man who knows my uncle says you came to find me," she whispered in my ear.  I didn't want the moment to end and I hugged her tight to me.  "Yes.  I had to, Song.  I love you."  "And I love you, Thomas Bradley."  Her breathe was hot on my ear and I felt excitement running through me.

We broke our embrace and stepped away from the gate.  We walked, hand in hand, along the fence line.  "Song Kim, I want you to come to America with me.  To be my wife."  She stopped suddenly and I felt her arm stiffen.  She looked up at me, her eyes black pools drawing me in.  "Tom, I do not know if I can.  There is something I must do first.  It may take me too long.  I want to go with you.  There is nothing for me here, now."  I took her gently by the arms.  "What?  What do you have to do?"  "It is a family matter.  That is all I will say.  It is a matter of family honor."  She kept those beautiful dark eyes locked on mine.  I released her and then placed a hand on her shoulder.  "I have a space for you on the American ship Iwo Jima.  You must be here tomorrow afternoon before four o'clock.  A helicopter will take us to the ship.  It will be one of the last."  She dropped her head and stared at her feet.  "I...I will try, Tom."  "Song Kim, please tell me what is so important that you can't stay here."  She shook her head.  "I cannot tell you.  Please do not ask me again.  Please."  She pleaded, tears beginning to well.  "Okay, okay.  I am sorry but I have to go back to my work.  Will you be safe tonight?"  "Yes.  I stay at the home of friends.  They take good care of me."

We hugged for a long moment and then she pushed gently away and turned toward the street.  I watched her walk into the throng of refugees camped nearby, afraid I might never see her again.  When I could no longer see the red bandana bobbing through the crowd I returned to my duties.

The night dragged interminably, each minute stretching for hours.  I was finally relieved by another gunnery sergeant at midnight and passed a fitful night in my bunk.

Vung Tau.  29 April 1975.  The Fall Of Saigon.

I checked out at the gate at oh six hundred and was given orders to return by 1200.  All passes were being cancelled at that time.  I raced along the streets on a borrowed bicycle, the only means of transport I could find.  Phi Duc's restaurant was just ahead and I saw Song Kim step inside, she held a rifle.  I dumped the bike on the ground and ran as fast as I could for the shop.  I suddenly doubted Song Kim.  What if I had been wrong about her?  What if she was VC?

The POP- POP - POP of an AK-47 rang from the vicinity of the shop.  I burst through the doors to see the barrel of the rifle swing toward me.  Song Kim's eyes went wide in recognition.  Phi Duc Cho lay dead in heap of broken chairs and overturned tables.  Little red circles were forming on his shirt front.  "Tom!"  she cried.  She dropped the rifle and began to sob.  I reached out to her and we embraced.  Finally, she pulled away.  "Do you still want me?"  She looked at my face, searching for a reaction.  "Of course I do.  Just tell me what happened?  Why did you shoot your uncle?"  I took her hand in mine.  "He was Viet Cong.  He put the bomb in father's shop."  "He killed his own brother?"  I was incredulous.  "Yes.  He killed my father because he would not join in fighting the Americans.  My uncle dishonored our family.  I made him pay for that dishonor."  She began sobbing again.

Outside came the whoop-whoop of police sirens.

"Song, we must leave.  Out the back.  Quickly!"

Song Kim retrieved the rifle and we dashed out the back door just as two uniformed policeman burst through the front.  "Stop!"  One of them shouted in Vietnamese.  They began to blow their whistles, summoning help.

Song Kim pulled me through an alley and we made a series of quick turns.  We moved from alley to street to alley and I was thoroughly lost.  Behind us I could hear the police, intent on their quarry.  I was a marine, in uniform, and a prime target for anyone wanting to score points with the NVA.

We hid for a short time in an abandoned shop, our breath coming in rasping gasps.  Outside was bedlam.  I heard the sound of helicopters and machine gun fire.  The Air Cavalry was covering the military's retreat from a country we had promised to save from the Communists.  We would barely be able to save ourselves.  Rockets whizzed overhead, sporadic small arms fire and explosions filled the air.  Song Kim and I were no longer worried about the police.  The North Vietnamese Army was rolling into Vung Tau, and from the sounds of the battle, they were between us and the base.

I sneaked a look out a broken window and found my bearings.  "Song Kim, we must go.  The last choppers will be leaving soon.  If we don't get to the base we'll be left here to face the NVA.  Me they will shoot on sight.  You, they will do worse."  "Come.  We can go through the alleys to get to the base."  I followed Song Kim and we took a circuitous route through the back streets, stopping occasionally to avoid NVA patrols.  I heard the rumbling engines of armored vehicles and knew that they were North Vietnamese tanks.

I glanced at my watch.  It read 11:30.  We had thirty minutes to get back to the detachment and freedom.  Finally, we came out onto the street that ran along side the base.  Half a dozen Marines were still guarding the gate.  The NVA hadn't gotten here yet, but they were close.  We dashed across the street and into the relative safety of the Marine Corps Detachment.  Four helicopters were turning up their engines and we headed for the nearest.  I practically threw Song Kim in and dove in behind her.

Inside it was crowded.  The chopper was overloaded with marines and civilians.  The engines strained from the extreme humidity and excess weight they were trying to lift.  Finally a crewman came over and began throwing boxes, packs, and bags out the door.  We lifted off and headed out sea.  Song Kim and the other refugees strained to get one last look at their home.  Most were crying and I looked to see a single tear roll down Song Kim's cheek.  I could see her mouthing words and I leaned close to listen.  "Forgive me, father.  I do not mean to dishonor our family."  She closed her eyes and leaned against me as the helicopter banked and Viet Nam disappeared from view.

Author Bio

Michael has been writing since high school and is primarily interested in screenwriting.  He has sold one screenplay and is working on two others.  He is producing and writing the screenplay for a children's animated short feature due for release in early 2004.  Michael is a Viet Nam, Beirut, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Granada, and Gulf War veteran and currently resides in Columbus, Ohio.