Last Man Out (51 page)

Facing the shore, I saluted them, slowly, with military precision.

I stood silent for a moment, turned, and went below.

The war was over.

Loaded with thousands of Vietnamese refugees, the
Pioneer Contender
heaved anchor early the next morning and pointed her bow east. Vietnam faded behind us.

  EPILOGUE  

At 7:00
P.M
. on 30 April 1975, General Hung, the former ARVN 21st Division commander and my friend, called his wife into his office in Can Tho. He told her that ten townspeople had come to him and asked him to not fight the advancing VC in their city’s streets. The Communists would shell the city and leave it waste, they said, and many civilians would die. Hung told his wife he understood and had agreed not to turn Can Tho into a hopeless battlefield. He also said a contingency plan to retreat with some of his soldiers to an isolated area of the delta had been compromised and was no longer viable. Surrendering was not an option. He could not bear even to meet with the ranking VC in the area, Major Hoang Van Thach, to discuss turning the delta over to the Communists. And he would not flee his country. He had an obligation to the men who had given their lives in its defense.

He was left with one honorable alternative, he said. He must take his own life.

His wife cried and pleaded with him to reconsider. “Why can’t we leave for a foreign country like the others?” she asked.

He reminded her again of his duty to his country and to his soldiers. And he continued, softly, slowly, “Don’t let me lose my determination. Continuing to fight now will only bring trouble and loss not only to our family but to soldiers and civilians also. And I don’t want to see the sight of any Communists.”

He stood, embraced his wife, and wept. Finally he said, “Hurry up and ask your mother and the children to come in to see me.”

When his mother-in-law and the children came into his office, he said good-bye to them, kissing each child.

All the soldiers in his outer office came in next, lined up, expecting orders.

Hung told them the fighting was finished. He said the country was lost because of poor leadership in Saigon and asked their forgiveness if he, personally, had made mistakes. The atmosphere was solemn. “I accept death,” he said. “Good-bye, my brothers.”

He saluted them and then shook each man’s hand. He asked everyone to leave. Some of his men did not move, so he pushed them out the door, shook off his wife’s final pleas, and finally was alone in his office.

Within moments there was a shot. General Hung was dead.

On the morning of May 1, 1975, at the mobile headquarters of the ARVN 7th Division, General Hai’s first lieutenant military aide came into his office.

General Hai lay facedown at his desk. Alone, without saying good-bye to anyone, he had committed suicide during the night. A half-empty glass of brandy was nearby.

Elmer Lee Van Pelt, III, basic training buddy extraordinaire.

Lieutenant Taylor, the Officer Candidate School tactical officer who was determined to run me off. I always felt better when I knew exactly where he was.

Larry Peterson (left) and I in front of our OCS barracks at Fort Benning. We were both assigned to the same First Division Company out of OCS and served together in Vietnam. I was devastated when I heard that he’d been killed in action. Fortunately, that report proved false.

At home with Dad soon after I graduated from OCS.

S.Sgt. Donald “Cottonpicker” Lawrence, my hero and best friend in the 1950s.

Larry Peterson and I with his parents in Fort Riley, Kansas, shortly before we left for Vietnam. The Petersons always looked after me as if I were a son.

One of my rare moments of solitude aboard the USNS
Mann
as we crossed the Pacific.