No
matter what political reasons are given for war, the underlying reason is
always economic.
–A. J. P. Taylor
What
is absurd and monstrous about war is that men who have no personal quarrel
should be trained to murder one another in cold blood.
–Aldous Huxley
War is not the continuation of politics with
different means, it is the greatest mass-crime perpetrated on the community of
man.
–Alfred Adler
Amidst the humidity of the hot day and the acrid odour of jet fuel, a screaming swarm of people was trying to clamber over the iron fence. That and the armed soldiers kept them off the airport. In the distance, smoke clouded the sky, explosions could be heard, and flashes could be seen. The thunder of gunfire was getting closer. The enemy troops were on the outskirts, surrounding the capital city, in preparation for their final attack. Promptly, they would be advancing towards the airport. The local troops were withdrawing. The situation was untenable. Terror was spreading through the entire population. The end was coming soon.
A convoy of cars and buses full of people kept going through the entry checkpoint. As they approached, the soldiers would check their credentials and then let them in as they shouted, “Go, go, quick, hurry up!”
Tuyen was keeping herself away from the crowd, carrying a bundle, and trying to hide it with her body. She had been waiting for a moment when perhaps the soldiers by the gate would direct their attention away from the vehicles. The opportunity came when the last vehicle in the convoy approached the checkpoint. She darted towards it, and, before the soldiers could react, she threw the package into the back seat of the car, at the same time that she yelled to the two men sitting on it: “Đưa cô ấy đi. Cô ấy sẽ có một cuộc sống tốt hơn với bạn. Hãy nuôi nấng cô ấy như thể cô ấy là máu thịt của chính bạn.”
Robert Stimson and Thien Duong, the two men riding in the back seat of the car, screamed at the same time, terrified by the package that had been thrown at them. They thought it was going to explode, but it didn’t. One of the soldiers reacted and hit Tuyen with the butt of his gun. She fell to the ground. Had that car not been the last one in the caravan, she would have been run over. Still shaken by what had just happened, Robert looked back through the rear windshield. He saw Tuyen lying on the road, on her knees, with her hands over her head, crying in despair.
Inside the airport, chaos was building up; panic was in the air. People were yelling and moving in all directions in a state of confusion, behind the fence that was barring them from the tarmac. Soldiers armed with machine guns kept a watch on the barrier and the throng. They were beginning to worry about being left behind and falling into the custody of the advancing enemy troops. There was a Boeing 747 parked on the runway. Another group of soldiers, also armed with machine guns, stood guard close to it.
When it was time to board the aircraft, the crowd stormed the barricade and ran towards the tarmac. Robert Stimson and his friend Thien Duong were among them. Strangely, Robert was still carrying the package that had been thrown at them in the car. The guards at the bottom of the air stairs were checking for visas and other papers. After all the travelers had embarked and the airplane door was finally shut, the mechanic who had flagged the plane into the runway jumped into the wheels well and climbed aboard through the cockpit floor.
The plane was crammed with almost five hundred individuals—men, women, crying babies, frightened refugees, crew members, their families, and embassy personnel. They were sitting on the seats, lying on the floor, crouching on the aisles, standing in the washrooms—anywhere the crew could fit them. Seat belts did not matter. The plane carried no luggage, no life vests, and no rafts. The purpose was to pack as many people on board as possible, as long as the airplane could get airborne. Except for the crying babies, a sombre atmosphere reigned inside. A number of them were leaving behind everything they knew: their country, for the first and maybe the last time; their family, husbands, parents, and children, to whom they did not even have the chance to say good-bye. With whatever belongings they could fit in a carry-on bag, they were flying into an uncertain and unknown future, heading to a country where they knew nobody and had no idea where they would live.
Once the airliner had taxied from one side of the airport to the other, the control tower placed the plane in a ground-hold position for 45 minutes. A fighter jet that had crashed on the runway and was blocking their departure had to be bulldozed. The anxiety of the passengers grew to an unbearable level. Then, to make matters worse, gunfire started coming at them from the far side of the landing strip. After the runway was cleared, the aircraft started moving again, and it accelerated until it reached takeoff speed at around 180 knots. The captain, Bob Berg, then applied pressure to the yoke. The plane pivoted on its main wheels, lifted its nose, and took off the potholed tarmac at Tan Son Nhut International Airport.
Agitated and unable to calm down, Robert asked his friend Thien, “What did she say?” Thien’s reply was, “Take her. She will have a better life with you. Raise her as if she were your own flesh and blood.” At that moment, the baby he had on his lap opened her eyes and looked at him. Robert’s eyes filled with tears as Pan American World Airways Flight 842, the last commercial flight out of Saigon, on April 24, 1975, gained altitude while distant rockets took aim at it. Robert’s heart was pounding. He was frightened by the possibility of being blown out of the sky. A massive Boeing 747 in broad daylight and in full view was an easy target for troops with weapons that could take it down with just a single rocket. But as the airliner continued to climb up and turn to the east, Robert could see the coastline falling away. He began to breathe normally again. They were now flying over the South China Sea.
© William Almonte Jiménez, 2016
